A wounded warrior lay amid the restless hush of the forest. His body was carved by deep, bleeding wounds that refused to close, as though the battle itself still clung to him. Exhaustion dragged heavily at his limbs, and a faint tremor betrayed the near exhaustion of his ki. Yet, his awareness remained keen — the instinct of a seasoned fighter refusing surrender even when the flesh demanded it.

  Though Eklavya approached with deliberate care, masking his presence with practiced precision, the warrior sensed the disturbance all the same. Without turning, he spoke slowly, his voice low and steady, carrying neither panic nor defiance, but the quiet acceptance of a man who had already measured the cost of survival and found it uncertain.

  With a faint, weary breath that stirred the silence, he asked, “So… are you here to kill me?”

  The question held little fear, only blunt inevitability, as if death were merely another visitor expected sooner or later. Eklavya offered no immediate reply. Instead, he stepped forward from the veil of shadows, careful to maintain distance — close enough to be seen, yet far enough to deny hostility.

  His gaze moved analytically across the warrior’s injuries, noting the severity of the wounds and the stubborn remnants of power still clinging to the broken figure like embers refusing extinction.

  The wind slipped through the trees, stirring fallen leaves into a restless whisper while distant thunder rolled across the sky as an omen spoken too far away to understand.

  The silence between them thickened, heavy with unasked questions and cautious evaluation. Finally, Eklavya folded his arms across his chest and spoke, his tone calm and unhurried. “If I intended to kill you,” he said quietly, “I would have done so before revealing myself.”

  There was no arrogance in his voice, no need for intimidation — only a measured certainty that made the statement far more convincing than any threat could have been.

  The young warrior released a faint chuckle that quickly fractured into a harsh cough, his body shuddering as fresh blood touched the corner of his lips. With visible effort, he turned his head toward Eklavya, eyes narrowing in mild surprise rather than hostility.

  “Oh… the Dark Ghost Devil of the Mati Empire. Nice to meet you,” he said after steadying his breath, a tired smile forming despite his condition. “Seems there’s a reason you approached me.”

  The humour in his tone felt oddly misplaced beside death’s shadow, yet it revealed a stubborn spirit unwilling to collapse quietly.

  Eklavya tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering beneath his controlled composure. “Why are you calling me that?” he asked, voice calm, though genuine interest slipped through. The warrior exhaled slowly, amusement glinting faintly in his eyes. “Looks like you really haven’t left the forest since escaping the Falling Leaf Sect. That’s the name they gave you — your nickname. Honestly, it’s pretty impressive.”

  Eklavya allowed a small smile. “It does sound cool,” he admitted lightly. “What about the bounty? Did it increase?” The question carried the tone of casual inquiry rather than concern, as though danger were merely an accounting detail.

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  “Hmm… not perfectly sure,” the warrior replied, thinking briefly. “But close to ten thousand low-grade spirit stones.”

  ‘They doubled it already,’ Eklavya sent silently to Magha through telepathy.

  ‘Hehe… and gave you a dramatic title too,’ Magha’s amused voice echoed from within the ring.

  Eklavya stepped closer and crouched several paces away, his posture relaxed yet alert, senses extending outward to scan the forest for any trace of the Falling Leaf Sect.

  Only when satisfied did he speak, a faint smirk touching his lips. “After all, the enemy of my enemy is usually a convenient friend.”

  The young warrior listened, smiling faintly before shaking his head. “I doubt I’ll be able to help you much in my current state.”

  Eklavya’s expression remained steady. “Maybe not yet,” he replied, producing calm certainty instead of pressure.

  “But I possess a pill capable of healing you within hours — provided you agree to join me in killing that elder and every disciple from the Falling Leaf Sect.” His gaze hardened slightly. “Refuse… and you already understand how this situation ends.”

  The warrior’s eyes sharpened despite his weakness. “Oh? I’m not planning to die like that.”

  “Of course,” Eklavya answered evenly. “But continue bleeding without treatment, and you won’t survive until noon. And judging by how the elder abandoned you for a higher priority, your enemies will return the moment they secure whatever herb they were searching for.”

  The young warrior’s expression hardened as Eklavya’s words settled in. For a fleeting moment, his gaze drifted toward the distant clearing where the earlier battle had unfolded, and the air around him seemed to tighten with restrained fury.

  His eyes burned, not with helplessness, but with a quiet rage held firmly under control. “That old monster values herbs and power more than lives,” he muttered bitterly. “And the disciples who follow him abandoned their principles long ago. Their sect speaks of honour, yet acts like a machine — harvesting resources and crushing anyone unfortunate enough to stand in their path.”

  The bitterness in his voice carried the weight of betrayal rather than mere anger, as though the wound to his faith cut deeper than the injuries across his body.

  Eklavya said nothing. Silence, in this moment, served better than agreement. He studied the warrior carefully, recognising beneath exhaustion and rage a stubborn will that refused surrender even after defeat had stripped away nearly everything else. This was not a man broken — merely cornered. After a brief pause, the young warrior exhaled slowly and spoke again, resolve replacing hesitation. “Alright… I’ll help you.”

  A faint smile appeared on Eklavya’s face as he retrieved a pill from his storage ring and flicked it forward with precise control. “Take this and begin meditating,” he instructed calmly.

  “It will heal your injuries within three hours and stabilise your channels, though your ki will not recover immediately.”

  Despite his weakened state, the warrior caught the pill with surprising reflex, staring at it for a moment as uncertainty briefly crossed his features.

  “You’re either incredibly confident,” he said quietly, “or dangerously reckless — helping a stranger in circumstances like these.” The tension between them eased slightly as curiosity replaced suspicion. “What is your name?”

  “Eklavya,” he replied simply, offering nothing beyond the name while his senses continued to sweep the valley for approaching threats. The young warrior nodded, accepting both the answer and the silence that followed. After a moment, he spoke in return. “Zeliang Ao.” The introduction carried no ceremony — only the quiet acknowledgement that, for now, their fates had become intertwined.