Morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, casting long golden lines across the wooden floor. A faint breeze crept in through the half-open window, carrying with it the cold fragrance of early dawn. Eklavya blinked as his eyes fluttered open, his mind still heavy and hazy from the events of the night before. His body felt sore, but not painfully—just the lingering stiffness of someone who had pushed themselves beyond their limits.
As he lifted his head slightly, he noticed a familiar figure beside his bed.
His mother was sitting on a small stool, her upper body resting on the bedside table, her head leaning against its edge as though she had fought sleep until exhaustion took her. Strands of her hair had slipped from her bun, brushing gently against her cheeks. Her soft breathing filled the silent room.
A warmth passed through Eklavya's chest. He couldn't help but smile—a slow, gentle smile that softened the edge of his still-tired eyes.
His little movement caused the chair to creak ever so slightly, and her eyes snapped open instantly. The moment she saw him awake, alert, and smiling at her, tears welled up without hesitation. She shot forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly.
Eklavya felt the weight of her fear in that hug—fear of losing him, fear of the unknown, fear of the sudden scream that had shaken the entire household the previous night. He gently returned the hug, patting her back lightly.
"I am fine, Mom."
His voice was calm, soft, almost soothing. But to her, those four words sounded like salvation.
"It's good that you're fine… it's good…" she whispered, her voice cracking. She brushed his long hair with shaky fingers, trying to verify for herself that her son was truly in front of her and not slipping away again.
Before she could say more, footsteps dropped outside, and the door opened. His father and older brother stepped inside.
His mother quickly stood up, wiping her tears, composing herself in seconds.
His father crossed the room in long strides. Worry, sternness, and authority mixed in his expression.
"What happened to you last night?" he asked. "As soon as we heard your scream, we all ran here. Even the elders heard you."
His brother folded his arms, his face tense as well.
Eklavya pressed his fingers against his temples. He truly didn't know what to tell them. The inheritance and the sudden flood of memories—none of that was something he could explain.
"I… don't remember, Dad," he replied truthfully. "I was cultivating and suddenly my head started hurting too badly."
The room fell silent for a brief moment. His father exchanged a complicated look with his mother, and his brother exhaled slowly.
His father finally nodded. "Alright. Rest for now. After washing up, stay in your room. We'll send your breakfast here."
Eklavya nodded obediently. His family left the room one by one, closing the door behind them. And then silence filled the room.
He washed his face, feeling the cool water refresh his senses. But the moment he sat on his bed again, fragments of last night flashed before his eyes—blurry images, hints of voices, impressions of power.
He crossed his legs and closed his eyes. And took a breath. Then he entered his sea of consciousness.
Immediately, the familiar floating blood pool island appeared beneath him—vast, ancient, and mysterious. Mist drifted slowly around its edges, runes glowing faintly on its stone surface. It was here he had always arrived… but today, something felt different. The air was heavier, thicker, carrying a faint pressure that didn't belong here before.
He stood silently for a while, adjusting to the sensation.
A metallic object materialized before him—an ancient token. Its surface was engraved with curved lines resembling a formation no modern array master could replicate. The metal was cold, carrying a faint hum of sealed power.
He infused a trace of ki into it. Instantly, the token trembled.
A scroll emerged from it, hovering in front of him before slowly unfolding on its own.
The words that floated on the scroll felt as though they carried the weight of ages.
"My and Dashirsur's soul power is sealed in this token. As you make breakthroughs, the seals will open one by one. You may borrow this unsealed soul power for temporary strength. Once borrowed, that layer becomes empty. It can be recharged only with soul stones or soul herbs."
His heartbeat quickened.
"After using this power will not break your body or cause backlash, but it will take a heavy toll."
Eklavya's calm expression cracked slightly. This was no ordinary inheritance. Soul power wasn't something mortals accessed casually—not without consequences.
He turned his gaze back to the token. Fifteen lines were carved upon its surface. The topmost line glowed blue, faint but clear. The remaining fourteen lines were crimson.
Fourteen more sealed layers of soul power. And only the first one was unlocked out of fifteen
Before he could process it fully, the token shuddered again. Two storage rings flew out—one silver with four embedded diamonds, and one red, engraved with a long, coiling dragon design.
He raised a brow. "Let's see."
He picked up both rings, one in each hand. Knowledge, herbs, techniques—so many things flashed were in those rings. The silver ring contained high-level techniques, most of which weren't demonic. The red ring, however, pulsed with darker energy—demonic arts, forbidden skills, rare herbs unknown in the mortal world.
Before he could take a deeper look, glowing sentences appeared above the rings.
"You will only be able to learn the techniques allowed as you break through realms. More techniques will be accessible later."
A third ring emerged—red, white, and black mixed together with a small dragon shaped on top. The earlier two rings drifted toward it. A bright channel connected them, and after a brief pulse of light, the older rings vanished inside the token.
Only the tri-colored ring settled onto his finger.
He touched it. All herbs had transferred. But only a select portion of techniques were inside.
He exhaled slowly. A knock sounded in the real world.
Eklavya opened his eyes, his consciousness returning to his room. He stood up and opened the door. A servant handed him his breakfast. After eating, he stepped outside his room.
He muttered, "I need pills for breakthrough… good thing Avrah was a high-tier alchemist."
The inheritance had given him not just knowledge but experience—intact. As though he himself had lived his master's life. He could feel ki fire flicker faintly inside him, warm and responsive.
Just as he began walking down the corridor, he saw his mother approaching.
"What is it, Mom?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Where are you going?"
"To buy some herbs."
Her brows lifted. "Are you studying Alchemy?"
He nodded casually. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. "Alright. Don't go too far."
She left to resume her duties. Eklavya stepped out of the clan's main entrance.
The street outside stretched wide and lively. Vendors were already opening their stalls. The morning market was awakening—wooden carts being rolled into position, colorful awnings being pulled open, crates of herbs, spices, and tools placed neatly. Children ran around barefoot. The smell of roasted nuts and fried dough drifted through the air.
Eklavya stretched lazily, feeling his muscles loosen.
Then he walked toward the last store—his friend's herb shop.
The market path through the clan area was long. Houses lined the sides, each with distinct architectural style—stone walls, curved roofs, small courtyards. Merchants shouted prices, customers bargained, and spirit beast handlers guided their animals around.
The air smelled of soil, herbs, cooked food, and occasionally—beast fur.
He passed by weapon shops where swords shimmered in the sunlight. Alchemy stalls displayed simple pills in small jade bottles. Textile vendors hung bright fabrics swaying softly in the breeze.
But Eklavya ignored most of it. His destination was clear.
At the far end of the market—away from the crowded center, tucked between a pottery shop and a talisman stall—stood a small herb store.
The door was closed.
A wooden board hung outside with the word Closed painted in white. But Eklavya pushed open the door anyway. A faint ding echoed from a small bell hanging above the entrance.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of fresh herbs, faint incense, and something flowery he couldn't identify. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars—some transparent, showing roots, petals, and powders; others opaque, hiding rarer items.
Behind the counter, a young woman sat on a tall chair.
Purple hair cascaded down her back like flowing silk, its color glowing softly in the morning light. A notebook lay open on her face, hiding her expression.
Eklavya stepped silently toward the counter.
He barely made a sound.
But the moment he reached the counter, she lowered the notebook—smoothly, naturally, as though she had sensed him the moment he walked in.
Her amethyst eyes met his.
She was stunning—elegant, calm, and effortlessly mesmerizing. Not just beautiful; her aura carried a maturity and confidence that made her stand apart from any girl he had ever met–her name was Anshvi.
Even without a powerful background, she had rejected countless marriage proposals. Nobles, heirs, young masters—none of them caught her interest.
Yet she always found a reason to talk to Eklavya. Always.
She stood with a light, teasing smile. "Young master Eklavya, what is it?"
Her tone was playful, melodic, teasing—exactly like someone who knew he would show up eventually. He took a list from his storage ring and handed it over. "Some herbs written here."
She accepted the paper, her eyes scanning the list with practiced ease. Then she smirked. "And anything else?"
Her voice dripped with flirty amusement. A familiar question. One she had asked many times before.
Eklavya shook his head calmly.
She hummed softly as she looked at the list again. "I don't have a few of these. You'll need to pick them from the mountain behind the city."
"Okay. Give me the ones you have. I'll find the rest on the mountain."
As she read through the list again, her confident expression softened ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned faintly pink.
"Coincidentally," she murmured, looking away for a moment, "I also need some herbs. Why don't we go together?" Eklavya stared at her flatly.
He knew exactly what she was implying. She always tried. She never gave up. Despite being rejected before, she still found excuses to stay close and yet… He still felt nothing. No romantic interest. No flutter in his chest.
Just calmness and practicality. He sighed inwardly.
But he didn't reject her outright—not verbally, at least. He simply remained silent.
She smiled as though that silence was permission. And that was how their day began.