Chapter Four: Shadows of Secrets
As soon as Mohan received permission from the Sixth Elder, he swiftly exited the opulent palace, his footsteps echoing through the grand halls. With urgency in his stride, he made his way to the man waiting outside. Mohan, a seasoned security guard, fixed the man with a stern gaze and issued a grave warning. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I'm giving you one chance to think this through. If you have information valuable to the Sixth Elder, then and only then should you step inside. But if you dare waste his time, it won't just be your life on the line—mine could be at stake too. So, think twice before you proceed."
The man's face paled at Mohan's words, his confidence momentarily shaken. His heart raced as the weight of the warning settled over him. But then, as if a spark of realization ignited within, his fear dissipated. He straightened, his eyes gleaming with newfound resolve. "Don't worry, Mohan Bhai," he said with a steady voice. "I'm certain the information I have for the Sixth Elder is of utmost importance. Not only will he reward me for this, but I'm confident he'll reward you too." His words carried a conviction that eased the tension in Mohan's chest.
Mohan let out a quiet sigh of relief, his stern expression softening slightly. "If that's the case, fine," he said. "You may enter." With that, he turned and led the way back into the grand residence of the Sixth Elder, the man trailing closely behind. They navigated through ornate corridors until they reached the heavy wooden doors of the study room. Mohan paused and turned to the man. "The Master is waiting inside. You may go in now."
With Mohan's permission, the man, whose name was Victor Stark, stepped into the study room. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged books and polished wood. At the far end of the room, the Sixth Elder sat comfortably in an intricately carved chair, leisurely sipping tea. His presence was commanding, his eyes sharp and discerning, though he said nothing for several long moments. Victor stood silently, his nerves creeping back as the Elder's silence stretched on. He fought to keep his anxiety in check, standing tall despite the growing unease in his heart.
Finally, the Sixth Elder finished his tea, placing the delicate cup on the table with a soft clink. He raised his gaze, locking eyes with Victor. "Speak," he commanded, his voice calm but laced with authority. "What have you come to tell me?"
Victor bowed his head respectfully, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "Greetings, Sixth Elder. My name is Victor Stark, and I am part of the management team at Rudrapur National Academy's hostel. I've come to share critical information regarding the hostel. It has come to my attention that Vaibhav Shrivastava has taken on a new student, and this student has just arrived at our hostel."
The Sixth Elder's expression shifted subtly, his brows furrowing as he processed the news. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice measured but firm. "Very well. You've done well to bring me this information. Now, I have an order for you. Ensure this student is assigned the worst room in the hostel. Make his life difficult—do whatever it takes to ensure he doesn't remain Vaibhav Shrivastava's student."
Victor's lips curled into a sly smile, his confidence bolstered by the Elder's words. "Sixth Elder," he replied, "I've already taken the liberty of doing exactly that. I anticipated your command and have already arranged for the boy to be placed in the most deplorable room available."
The Sixth Elder's eyes gleamed with approval. "Excellent work, Victor," he said, a rare smile breaking across his face. He raised his hand, and in it appeared a small jade bottle, its surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward Victor. "This is your reward," he said. "Inside this bottle are twelve pills. Each one can restore a warrior's spiritual energy when they're depleted in battle. Use them wisely."
Victor caught the bottle, his eyes widening in awe. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he dropped to his knees. "Thank you, Sixth Elder!" he exclaimed. "I will never forget this kindness for as long as I live."
The Elder waved off Victor's words with a dismissive gesture. "There's no need for such promises," he said. "Just ensure you continue to trouble that boy. As long as you do, rewards like this will keep coming your way. You may leave now."
With the Sixth Elder's permission, Victor rose and exited the room, clutching the jade bottle tightly. As he left, Mohan re-entered, bowing respectfully. "Pranam, Master," he said. "Was his information truly valuable?"
The Sixth Elder chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Indeed, it was," he replied. He produced another jade bottle, identical to the one he had given Victor, and handed it to Mohan. "This is for you. Your vigilance has earned it."
Mohan's face lit up with gratitude as he accepted the reward. "Thank you, Master!" he said, bowing repeatedly before retreating to resume his duties guarding the palace.
Meanwhile, oblivious to the schemes unfolding around him, Aryan was consumed with excitement for the upcoming fight he had heard about. The duel was between Nitin Rastogi and Akash Saxena, two prodigies from powerful families in the capital of Rudrapur. Nitin, who had recently reached the third level of the Martial Spirit Gathering, was considered a genius in his family. He had grown up in constant competition with Akash, and the pressure to match his rival intensified when Akash also achieved the third level. Determined to prove himself, Nitin had pushed himself to the limit and finally reached the same level. The moment he did, he issued a challenge to Akash, eager to settle their rivalry once and for all.
Both Nitin and Akash hailed from prominent families, each the son of their respective clan leaders. Blessed with abundant resources from a young age, they had achieved the remarkable feat of reaching the third level of Martial Spirit Gathering by the age of twenty—a rare accomplishment in the relatively underdeveloped nation of Rudrapur. In a country where formal cultivation began at sixteen, reaching such a level in just a few years was a source of immense pride.
Inside the combat ring, Nitin stood with unwavering focus, his eyes fixed on Akash, who stood across from him. Aryan, watching from the sidelines, followed Nitin's gaze and saw Akash, a young man of similar age, exuding confidence. Nitin broke the tense silence, his voice ringing with defiance. "Akash, are you ready to face me, or are you scared now that I've reached your level? If you're afraid to fight, just admit defeat, and I'll withdraw my challenge."
Akash laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. "Nitin, you're delusional if you think you're my equal. I've defeated you countless times before, and today, I'll prove once again that you're nothing compared to me." With that, Akash stepped into the combat ring, his eyes locked on Nitin with predatory intensity.
The air crackled with tension as the two faced off. Akash continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "Confidence is good, Nitin, but your arrogance will be your downfall. You've always wanted to challenge me, but you've never been worthy. I understand you need to prove yourself to your family to secure your place as their future leader, but challenging someone stronger than you? That's a mistake. Today, I'll crush you so thoroughly that you'll never recover from this defeat."
Nitin's face flushed with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. It was true—he aspired to lead the Rastogi family one day, and defeating Akash, the heir of the Saxena family, was a critical step in proving his worth. The two stood face-to-face, their gazes locked in mutual defiance.
A referee stepped into the ring, raising his hand to address the combatants. "This is a friendly match," he declared. "No lethal attacks are permitted. Any attempt to kill your opponent will result in severe punishment from the academy, including possible expulsion. Now, begin!"
With the referee's signal, Nitin charged forward, launching a powerful punch directly at Akash. The air exploded with a deafening boom as his fist unleashed the Heavenly Dragon Fist, a signature technique of the Rastogi family. The attack was devastating, capable of overpowering any warrior of the same level. But Akash was no ordinary opponent. He countered with his own punch, the Divine Dragon Fist, a technique eerily similar to Nitin's. The two attacks collided with a thunderous explosion, sending shockwaves rippling through the arena and forcing both fighters to stagger back.
The crowd erupted in excitement, students debating passionately. "I told you Akash is unstoppable!" one shouted. "Nitin's holding his own!" another countered. The fight intensified as both combatants drew their weapons, clashing with relentless ferocity. Their movements were a blur, each strike a testament to their skill and power.
As the battle reached its climax, it became clear to the more experienced onlookers that Akash held the upper hand. His attacks were precise, his movements calculated. In a sudden, decisive move, Akash unleashed a powerful punch aimed at Nitin's chest. The force behind it was explosive, designed to injure rather than kill, in line with the academy's rules. Nitin, sensing the danger, crossed his arms to shield himself, but the impact sent a jolt of pain through his body, his arms trembling from the force.
Before Nitin could recover, Akash followed with a devastating kick, channeling his full strength into the attack. The blow struck Nitin with brutal force, sending him flying across the ring. He crashed to the ground, unconscious, as a pained cry escaped his lips. The crowd roared, chanting Akash's name in triumph.
Aryan watched the fight with rapt attention, his mind racing. If the third level of Martial Spirit Gathering held such terrifying power, what unimaginable strength awaited at higher levels? Overwhelmed by the display, he quickly ate his meal in the mess hall and returned to his room, unaware of the storm brewing in his own life—a storm orchestrated by Victor and the Sixth Elder, who were determined to make his time at the academy a living nightmare.