After the final matches and the awarding ceremony, the Garuda Clan trainees bid farewell. Despite the tensions and rivalries of the past week, there was a strange sense of mutual respect among the young warriors. Some shook hands, others simply nodded at each other, and a few shared knowing glances. Victories and defeats, rules broken and honored—it had forged something unspoken between them.
That evening, the Sun Clan trainees gathered around the training grounds for a modest celebration. The scent of firewood and spiced food filled the air. Diya lamps flickered around the perimeter, casting warm golden glows on everyone's faces. They feasted on roasted grains, roots, and forest vegetables while sipping herbal tonics said to restore energy and calm the spirit.
Veer sat a little apart from the group, quietly eating and observing. A strange sense of belonging began to creep into his heart. Despite having been thrown into this world suddenly—an isekai into a world not of murim, but of ancient Vedic intensity—he was adapting. Slowly, but surely.
After the feast, everyone slept early. The bells would ring again before dawn.
---
At 4:20 AM sharp, the trainees stood in formation, white robes fluttering slightly in the early morning breeze. The mood was disciplined, but a tension hung in the air. A new teacher had been announced. Whispers of who it might be had run wild the previous night.
He arrived silently.
A young man, no older than his mid-twenties, stood before them. 5'11", lean but honed like a blade. His gaze was sharp, almost predatory. A scar ran from the corner of his left eye to his cheekbone, faint but undeniable.
"I don't like wasting time," he began, voice low and controlled. "I've been assigned to you for one week. So let's skip pleasantries."
No one moved.
"Today," he continued, "I test your pain resistance."
And before anyone could process that, he vanished.
Then the chaos began.
He moved like a gust of deadly wind, faster than any of them could react. Trainees were thrown, flipped, knocked unconscious, or simply flattened to the ground in an instant. Over a hundred boys—strong, elite, trained by the Sun Clan—were downed within sixty seconds.
Only a handful remained standing.
Veer stood amidst them, panting, but stable. His heart raced, but the chakra work he had done the night before had granted him a calmness he didn't know he had. His fear had dissolved somewhere between root and solar plexus.
The instructor gave a small, cold smirk. "You lot barely passed."
He looked over the others still recovering on the ground.
"For the next seven days, I'll beat you three times a day. Survive it, and you might earn the right to call yourselves warriors."
He turned to walk away but stopped.
"If you want to evade my attacks, learn to balance your air energy. Without it, you're just targets."
And like a mirage, he disappeared again.
Veer caught his breath, the silence that followed almost louder than the attack itself.
"Who was that?" he asked Akash.
Akash wiped his bleeding lip and replied, "They call him the Ghost of Kalinga. No one knows his real name. He's on par with Instructor Bheem… maybe even deadlier."
Veer blinked. "But Bheem is a monster."
"Exactly."
---
That morning, training intensified. No one dared complain. Bodies sore and spirits shaken, the trainees doubled their efforts.
By noon, most had shifted focus to internal energy training—specifically wind energy, as instructed. As Sun Clan descendants, their affinity naturally leaned toward fire. That made wind—a cool, detached element—particularly difficult to grasp.
Yet it was necessary.
Those who could balance both found their healing accelerated. Wounds sealed, bruises faded, and clarity of mind returned. For Veer, much of the pain had already disappeared, thanks to his chakra activation and meditation. But wind still eluded him.
He sat beneath a banyan tree, brows furrowed, eyes closed.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't feel it.
"Frustrated?" Akash asked, settling beside him.
Veer opened one eye. "How do I even feel air energy?"
"Focus on your breath," Akash said. "Wind energy isn't linked to the chakras directly. It's different. Harder. Especially for people like us who burn too hot. But if you slow down… listen to each inhale and exhale… you'll feel it eventually."
Veer nodded. Breath. Simplicity. Something his modern self always overlooked.
At 2 PM, just as the sun started descending, the Ghost of Kalinga returned. As silently as he had come that morning.
He scanned the faces.
Disappointment etched into his own.
"None of you have mastered even the basic sensation of air. Weaklings."
The tension in the training ground tightened. Some flinched. Some clenched their fists.
Then, to everyone's surprise, he sat down.
"Inhale. Count to six. Hold. Count to three. Exhale slowly. Count to six. Repeat."
He guided them through the most basic pranayama technique.
"And while you do that… feel the air—not in your lungs—but around you. Imagine it circling your skin, slipping past your fingers, whispering in your ears."
For five minutes, no one moved. Only breath.
And then he stood.
"I'll spare you today," he said flatly. "Train well. Tomorrow, I strike with twice the force."
He vanished.
The moment he left, Veer opened his eyes.
For a brief second… he had felt something. A ripple in the air. A stirring against his skin.
Maybe it was working.
He had no choice but to succeed.
In this world of beasts and warriors, ancient energy and divine strength—mastery over breath might just be the difference between survival and annihilation.