Chapter 230: 230. THE ART OF THE BEAST

Before Nokai could answer his master’s call, two things happened simultaneously. First, Nokai could not resist the call. Even in under a thousand bindings, the call was impossible for it to refuse. Sagiri could hear his own rage and desire for blood merge with it, and wherever Nokai was, he had answered, and he was coming.

The other thing that happened, Sagiri did not expect it. It was as if in that second, he called Nokai, time stood still. Felunka was still chanting death to the south, his rage and excitement blatant. Sagiri’s rage was also blatant, but that was to be expected from anyone. What he did not expect was the dangerous calmness that had been emanating from the supreme mandra to change into the most deadly and raw feeling of danger he had ever perceived from someone. The man had not moved a muscle apart from his finger to give commands to Tsaka all night during the hearing, but now, at the moment he had moved, and it was not just a finger.

He had sprang and disappeared from his line of sight.

It was as if he stopped time, or he was too fast; time had to catch up to his movements. It seemed like time had to catch up. He was gone from his chair in one second. Sagiri only grasped the dangerous air he carried passed over him like a wind before something made contact enough to shake the entire building. The chants from Felunka died in that instance, and sagiri almost missed the movement if it were not for the archive following his movements. The air suddenly grew even colder, and goosebumps rose on Sagiri’s hands. The room that had been heated a long time ago was now cold. Ice cold with predatory power.

Sagiri’s right eye almost missed as the man wrapped his hand around Felunka’s neck in one move. Felunka did not see him move either, and he barely had time to register before he was thrown as if he weighed nothing into the air. The mandra followed him and met him mid-air at the peak of his ascent. He grabbed him by the neck and this time threw him to one end of the hall as if he weighed the same as a feather, where his back met the wall of the hall. The impact that followed was thunderous. Felunka was driven into the obsidian wall with bone-rattling force, cracking spider-webbing outward from the point of collision. Before Felunka could fall limp to the floor of the hall, the mandra had already landed on one foot, soft like a feather.

His movements had not stirred even the hair on his head, but the veil covering his eyes had slightly moved, and Sagiri caught sight of one of his eyes. The iris was narrow and elongated, like that of a predatory beast. It gleamed with a primal intensity and was terrifying. In that instant, Sagiri understood the power before him. His whole eye was unnatural and did not look like that of a human in the slightest. So this was the secret art of the ruling clan of Tagayia. The art of the beast. His pupil moved slightly in the direction of sagiri and sagiri had never felt so startled. Unlike humans, whose eyes you can easily read, it is difficult to read the eyes of a beast.

The Art of the Beast is an ancient discipline practiced solely by the ruling clan of Tagayia. The Tagan clan. It is not merely a combat technique, but a state of existence, one that bridges the divide between human intellect and primal instinct. The art of the beast, if not controlled, could mean the user loses his mind, but yet it seemed the mandra had reached the apex of the art, and he could still manage to wield the strength of a beast and keep the calmness of a few humans. Through rigorous physical and spiritual conditioning, practitioners awaken the dormant predatory essence within them. Their senses sharpen beyond natural limits. Time appears to slow when they sprang. Their movements were reduced to instinctive rather than deliberate. Strength, speed, and perception are heightened to extraordinary levels, yet remain perfectly controlled.

The art of the beast. The archive finally recognized it. The art was one not many could witness since the clan, even being a ruling clan, owned land after land where they stayed hidden. It could explain why Tsaka ran most matters. The mandra had to be away to practice the art and to keep his mind more tame. The power was explosive and deadly indeed, now that sagiri had witnessed it. It left an uncanny feeling in the air as if something could tip over at any moment. He paced slowly, his footsteps echoing across the hall.

“I, Taziraka of the Tagan clan, am not dead yet.” The man finally spoke before he turned around swiftly and started walking to the very centre of the room. The room went silent before all the grand chief and all council members descended from behind their platforms and fell to their knees. Their faces to the earth. The Mandra paused, his gaze sweeping across the councils who were now kneeling in their utmost respect position, their faces to the earth. If a ruler is not pleased, one could beg him, but if he is angry, perhaps one could kiss the earth and pray for his anger to pass.

“I have not taken my vote, yet you have started chanting death. Am I no longer the head of this Hall?” he asked, his voice low but deep and deadly.

“Forgive us, supreme mandra!! Long live supreme mandra!!” the voices echoed in the hall, making it tremble.

Before they could rise, however, Nokai tore through the door, breaking it in half as it tore through. It was pulsing with so much intent, and its glare was deadly upon coming in close contact with its master’s presence. The threads holding sagiri down were many, almost burying him under their weight. Of them. Sagiri had never known Nokai could do that, but then he split into two and got to work.

“Nokai,” he murmured with relief.

The blades spun through the air with deadly grace, their surface drinking in the light. Gasps erupted from the council platforms as guards rushed forward, unsure whether to intercept or retreat. Within seconds, the threads were lying loose on the ground.

The council members who had been licking the mandra’s shoes had now taken defensive positions behind the mandra. Sagiri could still hear Felunka’s heartbeat slightly. He was not dead yet, but he would be soon enough. Sagiri stood to his feet with the help of Nokai before he popped his head to rid himself of the tension that had built in his muscles and neck.

He turned around slowly, and his eyes fell on the formation behind the mandra formed by the eight councils and the shadows that were now closing in. He might have killed a hundred and twenty-seven wing warriors, but these were the most powerful men of Tagayia, and the palace was swarming with the shadow corp, and to add to that, he could feel the strength of the supreme mandra. He was convinced that the man was strong enough to bring down a building by himself. He had a feeling he had not seen half of what the man could do and how many beast arts he had mastered. Even so, he did not plan on going down easy, and he would take at least half the room down with him if it came to that.

Sagiri swiped Nokai around and sank into a defensive position. Silence and tension filled the room as the two sides fell into a staring match. The auras from everyone and the deadly intents on themselves were enough to bring the entire Alika City to its knees and flatten it, but no one was willing to back down.

“Should we kill him?” Nakia asked. It was clear they were all waiting for the supreme mandra to give the command since he was the one with the highest rank in the room.

“I have not taken my vote yet,” the supreme mandra said after a while, as if the whole standoff had not fazed him. His aura was calm. Deadly calm, even, and his words were even calmer.

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