The air smelled of rain and iron, of battles unfinished and destinies stubborn enough to refuse rest. Zeliang’s confession still lingered between them, heavy as a funeral bell. The elder he spoke of was not merely a warrior but a man who had crossed the final boundary of morality, sacrificing disciples like expendable fuel to ignite forbidden techniques. Such power always demanded payment, and usually the bill arrived soaked in blood. Zeliang had resisted, yes—fought with desperate brilliance—but cultivation realms were merciless hierarchies. Courage could bend fate for a moment; it rarely broke it.
Eklavya listened without interruption, his expression calm yet thoughtful, the faintest trace of amusement resting at the edge of his lips. When Zeliang finished, silence settled briefly.
“Yeah, I saw your fight. Well done!” Eklavya said, raising a thumbs-up with casual sincerity.
Zeliang laughed, though the sound carried exhaustion beneath it. “HAHAHA! You who slaughtered grandmaster warriors even as a practitioner warrior—what am I in front of you? I cannot even compare myself.”
Eklavya shook his head lightly. “Nah. It wasn’t only me… and there’s more to that story.” His gaze drifted upward toward the sky, now painted grey by swelling rain clouds. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his eyes—memory, perhaps, or regret carefully buried beneath humour.
Zeliang followed his gaze before looking down again at the pill resting in his palm. Recognition flickered across his face. ‘Didn’t think I would see this kind of pill in this region,’ he thought. Its faint medicinal fragrance alone spoke of rare refinement.
After a brief pause, he uncorked the vial and swallowed the pill, settling into a cross-legged posture. Almost immediately, warmth blossomed within him—not violent or overwhelming, but steady, like sunlight reaching frozen ground. The burning pain threading through his cannels softened, loosening its cruel grip.
His breathing slowed, each inhale deeper than the last, and the tension locked into his shoulders finally eased. For the first time since surviving the battle, exhaustion revealed itself openly, no longer suppressed by sheer will.
Spiritual energy began circulating him in faint ripples as he entered cultivation.
Eklavya watched for a moment, ensuring the energy stabilised, then quietly turned away and walked a short distance into a clearing nearby. The forest responded to the approaching storm; leaves rustled nervously, and distant thunder rolled like an ancient beast awakening.
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After some time, Eklavya sensed Zeliang’s ki stabilising—uneven no longer, but flowing with cautious harmony. Satisfied, he reached into his storage ring and withdrew a compact bronze cauldron alongside several bundles of herbs, each carefully preserved.
The One-Lined Recovery Pill required precision rather than brute skill. Its strength lay in balance—harmonising damaged channels without overwhelming weakened bodies. Eklavya arranged the herbs methodically and then fed them into the cauldron.
A soft flame ignited beneath it.
Magha observed silently from nearby, his sharp eyes tracking every motion. He understood instinctively that interruption now would be disastrous. Even the wind seemed to lessen, as though respecting the alchemical process.
Minutes turned into hours.
The cauldron emitted faint pulses of light, each accompanied by a delicate medicinal fragrance that spread through the forest. Sweat formed along Eklavya’s brow, though his hands remained perfectly steady. Flames rose and fell according to his control, responding like disciplined soldiers to silent commands.
Thunder rumbled louder overhead.
At the final stage, Eklavya’s eyes sharpened. With a swift motion, he adjusted the flame intensity and struck the cauldron lightly with two fingers. A clear metallic hum echoed outward.
‘Pop.’
The lid trembled.
Moments later, he lifted it, revealing ten perfectly formed pills resting within, each marked by a thin luminous line running across its surface—the signature trait of successful refinement.
He exhaled slowly, allowing tension to leave his body before transferring the pills into multiple vials. The sky had darkened considerably now, clouds thick enough to swallow daylight. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the forest in stark white bursts.
Rain threatened to fall at any moment.
Eklavya reached for another batch of herbs, intending to continue refining while time allowed.
At that instant, Magha’s expression changed.
A subtle disturbance brushed against his senses—fast, sharp, deliberate. Not an animal or a wandering cultivator.
Before he could speak a warning, the forest air split apart.
A figure burst from the trees, movement so fast it blurred vision itself. Leaves exploded outward in its wake as a sword flashed, reflecting lightning like a streak of silver death.
The blade aimed directly for Eklavya’s neck.
There was no killing intent released beforehand, no spiritual pressure to announce danger—only pure assassination, precise and ruthless.
For a fraction of a second, time seemed to fracture. The thunder roared, and the sword descended.
Ruins Of Valor
by TiltedPanda
Now—thrust back into that city—he must uncover the truth about his heritage, even as the powers buried within him begin to awaken.
Kar will have to grow strong quickly—strong enough to protect the people he cares about… and survive what he’s becoming.
What To Expect:
Initially weak MC who must grow beyond his limits. Powerful abilities and meaningful progression. Deep, mysterious world and lore. Hard choices that push characters to the brink
Upload Schedule:
- Advanced chapters available through Patreon
