The sky above the Salt-Flats of Galmar was no longer a blinding white; it was choked by the charcoal-gray exhaust of the Vane Family's mechanical war-bird. The "Iron Vulture" hovered like a metal parasite, its steam-pistons hissing and its underside bristling with harpoon launchers. This was the true face of the Upper District's power—not just martial arts and Prana, but the cold, industrial dominance of those who had monopolized the village's wealth.
"By order of the High Council!" the lead guard shouted again, his voice amplified by a brass megaphone. "Konja Munka, you are a thief of heritage! The Silver-Eye is a restricted bloodline of the state. Surrender now, or we will execute the Scorched Earth protocol on this temple!"
Shor the Savory stepped forward, his Cinnabar-Ape letting out a low, vibrating growl that shook the very salt beneath their feet. "The High Council has no jurisdiction over these flats," Shor said, his voice calm but lethal. "You are trampling on holy ground, little crows."
"The Council goes where the gold flows, old man," the guard sneered. "Fire!"
With a mechanical thud, the Iron Vulture unleashed a volley of Prana-infused canisters. They didn't explode with fire; they burst into a thick, clinging violet mist—Void-Salt, a chemical designed to neutralize a fighter's connection to their Crest-Mon.
The Drowning Mist
"Zale! Breathe through the link!" Konja shouted, pulling the little fox-creature close to his chest. He felt the connection flickering like a candle in a gale. The violet mist was like oil on water, coating his lungs and making his internal Prana feel heavy and sluggish.
Beside him, Renzo's Leaf-Blight let out a pained hiss, its scythes losing their emerald luster. Mina was already on the move, tearing strips of her combat ribbon to create makeshift filters for her friends.
"Cover your mouths!" Mina cried, her hands glowing with a faint, flickering light. "The mist is a catalyst! It's going to ignite!"
She was right. The lead guard raised a gloved hand, and a spark-trigger clicked. The violet mist didn't just burn; it imploded. A vacuum of heat ripped through the temple courtyard.
"Salt-Pillar: Iron Cauldron!" Konja roared.
He didn't run. He planted his feet wide, channeling every ounce of his training into the ground. He visualized the salt crust not as dirt, but as the base of a great oven. Beside him, Tali Ginger slammed her tonfas together, creating a localized wind-vortex.
"I'll blow the mist back, you hold the line!" Tali yelled, her spiky blonde hair whipping in the artificial wind. "Ginger-Snap: Cyclone Whisk!"
The explosion hit them like a physical wall. Konja's legs felt as though they were being driven into the earth by a giant's hammer. His skin sizzled, the heat of the Void-Salt trying to peel the Prana from his body. But he held. The Salt-Pillar technique—the pillar of Structure—kept him anchored. He wasn't just a boy anymore; he was a mountain of resolve.
"He's still standing?" the guard muttered from the bird's deck. "Send in the Enforcers. We don't need him alive, we just need his eyes."
The Black-Glove Enforcers
From the belly of the Iron Vulture, six figures dropped. They didn't use parachutes; they used Gravity-Crests, slowing their descent at the last second to land with a bone-jarring impact. These were the Black-Glove Enforcers, the private mercenary arm of the Vane family. Each of them wore masks shaped like snarling wolves and carried "Prana-Leech" batons.
"Renzo, take the left! Mina, support him!" Konja commanded, his voice ringing with a new authority. "Tali, you and I take the front!"
Renzo didn't hesitate. Even with his Prana suppressed, his physical training was elite. He moved like a shadow through the dying purple smoke. "Gale-Style: Silent Blade!" His Leaf-Blight, though weakened, moved in perfect sync, its scythes clashing against the metal batons of two Enforcers.
Mina stayed back, her eyes scanning the battlefield. She wasn't a front-line brawler, but she was the heart of the team. She threw seeds from her apothecary pouch—Creeping-Vine Bulbs. As soon as they hit the salt, she infused them with a burst of her remaining Prana. The vines didn't grow large, but they were coated in a paralytic sap, snaking around the Enforcers' ankles and slowing their momentum.
Meanwhile, Konja and Tali were a whirlwind of fire and lightning.
"Spice-Fist: Habanero Burn!" Tali shouted, her punches leaving literal scorch marks on the Enforcers' reinforced armor. She was a blur of orange, her movements so fast she seemed to be in three places at once.
Konja, however, was focused. He was practicing the Sweet-Flow mid-combat. As an Enforcer swung a heavy baton at his head, Konja didn't block it. He stepped into the arc, his hand sliding along the metal like water over a stone. He redirected the force, sent the Enforcer stumbling into his own teammate, and followed up with a precise strike to the back of the neck.
"You're getting better, Cook!" Tali laughed, ducking under a kick. "But watch the sky!"
The Harpoon of the Vulture
The lead guard was tired of the stalemate. He climbed into the pilot's seat of the Iron Vulture's primary weapon: the Dragon-Piercer Harpoon.
"Lock onto the Munka boy," he hissed.
A massive bolt of blackened steel, engraved with anti-magic runes, locked into place. The steam-pressure hissed, reaching a screaming pitch.
THOOM.
The harpoon tore through the air, traveling faster than the eye could follow. It wasn't aimed at Konja's chest; it was aimed at his feet, intended to pin him to the earth so he could be harvested.
"Konja, move!" Mina screamed.
But Konja couldn't move. He was mid-strike against an Enforcer. The world slowed down. He saw the harpoon, a jagged needle of hate, streaking toward him. He saw Zale, the little blue fox, shivering on his shoulder, his tiny heart beating like a drum.
If I move, the temple entrance behind me will be destroyed, Konja realized. Shor and the scrolls will be buried.
In that moment of absolute pressure, the "Umami" Shor had mentioned—the Balance—flickered in Konja's mind. It wasn't about being the strongest or the fastest. It was about the perfect harmony between the ingredients of the soul.
Konja reached out with his left hand. He didn't use the Iron-Palm. He used the Munka-Style: Vacuum-Sear.
He grabbed the air itself. The Silver-Eye flared, turning the world into a map of energy flows. He saw the friction, the heat, and the kinetic force of the harpoon. He didn't try to stop it; he tried to "cook" its momentum.
"Second Gate: Release!"
A shockwave of blue-silver light erupted from Konja. He caught the harpoon with his bare hand. The metal was white-hot, hissing against his skin, but his Prana-clad palm acted as an insulator. The force pushed him back, his boots melting the salt as he skidded, but inches before the temple door, he stopped.
The harpoon groaned in his grip. With a roar of pure, unadulterated strength, Konja twisted his hips and threw the harpoon back toward the sky.
It didn't hit the Iron Vulture, but the sheer force of the "Reflected Flow" sent a sonic boom through the air that shattered the war-bird's primary steam-vent. The massive mechanical bird tilted, black smoke pouring from its engines.
The Retreat
"Fall back! Fall back!" the guard screamed as the Vulture began to lose altitude. The remaining Enforcers, seeing their transport failing, used their Gravity-Crests to retreat upward, disappearing into the hull as the bird limped away toward the horizon.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the crackle of a few remaining violet fires.
Konja stood in the center of the crater, his hand smoking, his indigo gi charred to rags. He looked down at his palm—a perfect, blackened imprint of the harpoon's runes was burned into his skin. A permanent reminder of the day he caught the lightning.
"You... you caught a Dragon-Piercer," Renzo said, his voice a mix of awe and terror. "Nobody catches those. They go through mountain rock."
Tali walked over, poking the harpoon-mark on Konja's hand. "Ouch. That's going to leave a scar. A cool one, but still, ouch."
Shor the Savory stepped out from the temple, his Cinnabar-Ape now calm. He looked at Konja with a new sense of gravity. "The Second Gate is open, but you've marked yourself, Konja. That brand on your hand... the Vane family can track you now. They know your frequency."
"Let them track me," Konja said, his voice deep and resonant. He looked at Mina, who was already running over with healing salves, her eyes wet with relief. He looked at Renzo, who stood ready with his blade.
"We have three days until the Crimson Moon," Konja continued. "We aren't going to hide in the salt anymore. We're going back to Oakhaven. We're going to walk through the front gates, and we're going to take back our village."
The Road Back
That evening, they packed what was left of their gear. Tali decided to join them, her bird-like Crest-Mon, Doughy, providing "traveling buns" that restored their stamina as they walked.
As they left the white expanse of the salt-flats and reached the rocky foothills leading back to the valley of Oakhaven, Konja looked at the two scrolls tucked into his belt. He hadn't mastered them all yet, but he felt the "Flavor" of the world changing. The Ordinary street-vendor was gone. In his place was a warrior who understood that the secret to a great dish, and a great life, was knowing when to turn up the heat.
"Konja," Mina whispered as they walked beneath the stars. "Are you scared?"
Konja looked at Zale, who was fast asleep on his shoulder, dreaming of lightning and meat-skewers.
"I'm terrified," Konja admitted, his silver eyes reflecting the moonlight. "But my father always said the best meals are made when the pressure is highest. I think it's time Oakhaven tasted something new."
On the horizon, the moon began to take on a faint, reddish tint. The Crimson Moon was rising. And with it, the final battle for the Munka name was about to begin.