The sword descended like a streak of judgment, its edge whispering through the rain-heavy air, close enough to Eklavya’s neck that he could feel the chill of sharpened steel before pain had the chance to exist. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed into a single shining line—the boundary between life and death—when suddenly another blade burst into motion.

  Clang!

  Steel collided against steel mere inches from Eklavya’s throat. Sparks scattered like startled fireflies as the incoming strike was forced aside. The impact rang across the clearing, sharp and absolute.

  A figure stepped forward from behind Eklavya.

  Zeliang.

  Though still pale from injury, his posture carried unwavering resolve. His sword remained raised, angled perfectly after the parry, forcing the attacker to retreat several steps across the damp earth. Leaves crunched beneath the man’s boots as he stabilised himself, revealing a middle-aged warrior with stern features and eyes sharpened by long years of battle.

  Magha narrowed his gaze, spiritual sense probing carefully before he spoke in a low voice beside Eklavya. ‘No doubt it took me a moment to feel his presence. He is a two-star Grandmaster warrior.’

  The statement alone explained everything—the silent approach, the flawless assassination attempt, the overwhelming pressure hidden beneath restraint.

  “Chandra,” Zeliang said firmly, lowering his sword slightly though he remained cautious, “he isn’t our enemy.”

  The attacker’s expression shifted, surprise flickering briefly across his face, though his grip on the weapon did not loosen entirely.

  Eklavya, who had frozen the instant the blade neared his neck, slowly exhaled. The tension drained from his muscles in controlled increments. He turned his head toward Zeliang, eyes steady but questioning.

  “You know him?” he asked.

  Zeliang nodded once. “Yeah. He is one of us.”

  “One of us…” Eklavya murmured, repeating the words as understanding settled in. His heartbeat, which had surged moments earlier, gradually returned to its calm rhythm. The storm overhead growled faintly, as if disappointed the scene had not ended in blood.

  Before further explanation could follow, the forest shifted again. Branches trembled. Footsteps echoed from multiple directions.

  In an instant, eight figures emerged from the surrounding woods—five Master Warriors and three Practitioner Warriors—moving with disciplined coordination. They spread out instinctively, forming a protective perimeter around the clearing. Their arrival was swift yet controlled, each warrior scanning the surroundings before their attention settled upon Zeliang.

  Eklavya’s expression hardened immediately. His aura sharpened, instincts snapping into combat readiness. Spiritual energy stirred beneath his skin, quiet but prepared, like a blade sliding halfway from its sheath.

  “Don’t worry,” Zeliang said calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Eklavya’s shoulder. “They are with us.”

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  The contact carried quite certainty. After a brief pause, Eklavya allowed the tension to ease, though his awareness remained alert. Trust, he decided, was acceptable—but vigilance was cheaper than regret.

  The warriors who had just arrived stepped forward together. In perfect unison, they joined their palms and bowed slightly.

  “We greet Young Master Zeliang.”

  Their voices carried respect rather than mere obedience, revealing a relationship deeper than simple hierarchy. Eklavya raised an eyebrow subtly at the title but said nothing. Pieces of Zeliang’s identity were clearly larger than previously revealed.

  Zeliang sighed softly, embarrassment flashing across his face at the formal greeting. “Okay, okay,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Everyone, take a little rest here.”

  The warriors obeyed immediately, dispersing around the clearing. Some sat beneath trees, others began silent meditation to recover their energy. One inspected the perimeter while another checked injuries among the group. Their movements showed experience as a coordinated unit rather than a randomly gathered force.

  Chandra’s sword slid back into its sheath with a soft metallic whisper, though his sharp eyes never left Eklavya. Years of survival had carved caution deep into his instincts, and the young man standing before him did not resemble an ordinary cultivator. The calm in his posture, the restrained aura, and the faint medicinal scent lingering from recent pill refinement all spoke of someone far more dangerous than his cultivation level suggested.

  Rain began falling in scattered drops, tapping against leaves like impatient fingers.

  Chandra stepped closer, stopping a respectful distance away from Zeliang before inclining his head slightly.

  “Young Master,” he said, his tone respectful yet probing, “who is he?”

  The surrounding warriors subtly shifted their attention toward Eklavya. Though resting, none truly relaxed; trained fighters never wasted awareness. Even Magha watched quietly, curious how Zeliang would answer.

  Zeliang glanced at Eklavya, a faint smile forming despite his lingering fatigue. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words—not out of hesitation, but importance.

  “He,” Zeliang said calmly, “is one of us.”

  The statement landed heavier than any formal introduction.

  Chandra’s brows lifted slightly. Surprise flickered across his face before discipline quickly masked it. Among their faction, those words were not spoken lightly. One of us was not a casual label; it meant trust granted beyond rank, beyond background, beyond suspicion.

  Several warriors exchanged brief looks. The tension that had lingered since their arrival eased, replaced by quiet acceptance.

  Eklavya blinked once, mildly amused by the sudden elevation of his status without consultation.

  “What do you mean?,” he repeated, folding his arms loosely.

  Zeliang chuckled faintly. “Yeah, his name is Eklavya, or rather say the famous Dark Gost Devil.”

  Chandra studied Eklavya again, this time not as a potential threat but as an ally yet to be understood. He brought his palms together and gave a respectful bow.

  “Then forgive my earlier action,” he said. “An enemy capable of hiding its presence so completely is rare. I acted before confirming.”

  Eklavya waved a hand dismissively. “Understandable. Though next time, maybe aim slightly away from my neck.”

  A ripple of restrained laughter moved through the group, dissolving the final remnants of hostility.

  Thunder rolled overhead, louder now. The clearing transformed beneath the storm, yet instead of chaos, a strange sense of unity settled over the gathered warriors.

  Zeliang lowered himself onto a nearby stone, still recovering, while his companions finally allowed themselves to rest properly. Some began circulating ki to recover energy; others kept silent watch at the perimeter.

  Chandra remained standing for a moment longer, eyes drifting between Zeliang and Eklavya. Whatever doubts he had carried were fading, replaced by cautious respect.

  Storm clouds darkened the sky completely now, lightning briefly illuminating the clearing in silver flashes.

  And beneath that restless sky, an unspoken understanding formed—their paths were no longer separate. Whether by fate, coincidence, or something far more deliberate, Eklavya had stepped into their circle.