A week of relentless Sadhana had passed. The initial, maddening sparks from the clash of Prana and Atmic had faded to a faint, manageable fizzle. Ashan’s progress was a product of diligent practice and cold, clinical analysis via [Viksana], constantly refining the 4-4-4-6-2 breathing pattern into something more efficient.

His team, following his lead, had also stabilized, though not without complaint.

“This method is better,” Dris grumbled, flexing a hand, “but it still feels… lacking.”

“Instead of whining, why don’t you improve it yourself?” Rodric shot back, their daily ritual of bickering providing a strange sense of normalcy.

***

Exiting the Temple of Sins, Ashan’s mind was elsewhere. ‘The week of grace is over. Real training begins tomorrow.’ His thoughts turned to the elder. Zarah hasn’t approached me. That’s either a good sign or he’s waiting. If he confronts me about the Siddhi, what then? Denial? Or a calculated admission?’

A sharp, angry voice shattered his introspection.

“You, red-haired bastard!”

Ashan glanced over. It was Srish, from the Bull Faction. ‘Ah, the one with the parental lineage so confused even the animals are unsure,’ he quipped internally, a light chuckle escaping him. He continued walking.

“Hey! Stop, you little fucker!” Srish shouted, his face contorted.

Ashan stopped and turned, his expression a mask of cold calm. ‘A fight now would be inefficient. My body is drained from the week’s focus.’

Srish smirked, pointing a finger. “You think you’re a hotshot? In the sparring matches, if I get you, I’ll break your bones.”

“Whose bones are you planning to break?” Dris’s voice came from behind Srish, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder.

“Well, if it isn’t the bear-fucked child!” Rodric laughed.

Srish’s face flushed with fury.

“Excellent. I choose you both, Dris and Rodric,” Ashan jested, his tone flat. Then, his gaze returned to Srish, turning arctic. “Sure. We’ll settle it in the sparring ring. Dris, let him go.”

Freed, Srish scrambled back, spitting words laced with malice. “It’ll be your last match!”

“What a bastard,” Dris scoffed as Srish retreated.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

***

The next morning, the Arashens stood at attention. Instructor Vael Orrok’s lanky frame seemed to absorb the faint light seeping from the cavern roof.

“Now that you’ve stabilised as Bodnir-ranked Sadhakas,” he drawled, “it’s time you learned what that means.” He closed his eyes. The members watched, mesmerized, as his muscles twitched and corded, a visible wave of prana coursing beneath his skin.

“The two most basic applications: strengthening and sensing.”

“By guiding your Prana, you can reinforce your body. It augments strength, speed, and stamina.” To demonstrate, he unleashed a series of punches and kicks. The air itself tore with a sharp ‘Shkk! Shkk!’

Eyes widened. This was tangible power.

“The second is ‘Life Sense.’ At the Bodnir rank, your range is about two meters. Steady your breath, let your prana extend beyond your skin, and feel the respiration of other living things.”

He then guided them through the arduous process. Ashan focused, feeling the wisp of Prana disperse through his limbs, a fleeting surge of power that evaporated too quickly. ‘A foundation,’ he thought, his mouth twitching. ‘But a foundation can be built upon.’

***

“Sheesh! I can feel the strength!” Dris exclaimed in the mess hall, promptly snapping his spoon in half. “Rodric, give me yours.”

“I will—” Rodric began, but Dris had already snatched it.

“Why, you bastard!”

“Let me finish, then you can have it back,” Dris said, already eating.

“Immature,” Helma muttered under her breath.

Imla turned to Ashan, her green eyes analytical. “Any further improvements to your method?”

“It’s still in development,” he replied evenly.

‘Ashan… to devise a solution in a single day,’ she pondered, studying him. ‘Is his strength born from that conviction? The will to outlive everyone?’ A complex flicker of emotion passed behind her gaze.

“Ashan, could you help with the Prana exercises later?” Ballio asked.

Ashan gave a single nod.

“Can you two stop? At least while we’re eating,” Damara interjected, trying to mediate between Dris and Rodric.

‘So noisy,’ Ashan observed, consuming his meal with methodical focus.

***

In the classroom, Instructor Faala Sorni gestured to the stairs. “The second and third floors are for advanced instruction. My domain is language and theory. Today’s topic: professions for Sadhakas.”

She listed them by Marga. “For the Sharir Marga: Yoddha, Pranajin, Raudragin. For the Atma Marga: Mantrik, Yantravedi, Bhandhakalpin…”

“Ashan,” Rodric whispered, “she said nothing about the Samyama Marga.”

“Is there a problem, Arashen Rodric?” Faala’s voice cut through the room.

“No! Everything’s fine… perfectly fine,” he stammered.

Dris muffled a laugh.

The class ended with Rodric sentenced to ten laps.

***

“Nice job,” Dris smirked as Rodric finished his punishment, panting.

“Let’s just go to combat class,” Imla said, marching ahead.

In the combat hall, Instructor Yessa Dranvi’s voice boomed. “You maggots are Bodnir-ranked, but you’re still weak! Today, you learn to imbue your strikes with Prana. Take your stance!”

They followed his lead, reinforcing their limbs with prana to perform a brutal series of strikes.

“Now,” Yessa barked, pointing to a pile of plain brown stones. “Destroy them.”

The stones were deceptively heavy. Ashan centered himself, drawing power from the ground, through his body, and into his fist. He struck the centre of his stone.

Thwack! Gravel flew, but the stone remained largely intact.

“Your goal is to shatter them completely,” Yessa announced. “These stones are infused with concentrated prana.”

‘Concentrated Prana…’ Ashan’s mind, ever analytical, seized on the concept. ‘If Prana is life energy… could a sufficient concentration animate the inanimate? Are stone constructs next?’ A faint, cynical smile touched his lips as his eyes swirled into grayish-white spirals.

[Viksana].

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep