Months passed quietly.
In the secluded valley behind Notting Junior Soul Master Academy, Sanhartha slowly came to a halt, ending his morning cultivation. The faint mist lingering among the trees had yet to fully disperse, and the sound of flowing water echoed softly around him, steady and unhurried.
Compared to two years ago, he had changed greatly.
Ordinarily, as a soul master advanced, each breakthrough demanded more time and effort than the last. Cultivation slowed as the body encountered natural limits. Yet Sanhartha felt the opposite. His cultivation speed had not decreased—instead, it had grown smoother, as though his body itself had adapted to the process.
Now, before even reaching nine years of age, his soul power had already reached Rank 17.
Sanhartha was confident. Reaching Rank 20 before his ninth birthday was no longer a distant possibility, but a near certainty.
As he circulated his soul power one final time, he sensed the familiar warmth flowing through his veins. Over these months, he had gradually discovered another subtle aspect of his soul skill. Each activation of Vein Igniting Art did more than enhance flame circulation—it tempered his veins themselves. The fire passed through them repeatedly, strengthening their resilience and slightly refining his physique.
The effect was not dramatic.
But it was constant.
Standing up, Sanhartha stretched lightly and glanced toward the clear spring beside the valley. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed. There was no lingering soreness from cultivation, no stiffness from prolonged training.
This, too, was a change.
His idea of earning money had also taken root.
What began as a simple plan had quietly spread throughout the academy. At first, only working students approached him for massages. Later, others followed. Sanhartha did not keep the method to himself. He taught several reliable working students the basics, emphasizing discipline and restraint.
Soon, a modest massage corner formed within the academy grounds.
It was not extravagant, nor did it draw attention. Yet it provided steady income for working students and eased their daily burdens. Their gratitude toward Sanhartha was sincere, though he never sought acknowledgment.
He preferred to remain unseen.
Beyond cultivation and daily routines, Sanhartha had also been experimenting with something else.
Not soul skills.
Just methods.
He did not consider them techniques in the true sense—only rough attempts, applications born from control and repeated practice.
The first was something he called Controlled Ignition. He would summon a flame and maintain it at a precise intensity, preventing it from spreading or surging. The exercise demanded concentration and patience. Even the slightest distraction caused the flame to collapse.
Its advantage lay in precision.
Its flaw was fragility.
Another method he tested was Thermal Pulse—releasing heat without forming visible flame. The air would waver briefly, enough to cause discomfort or force retreat. However, the range was short, and the effect mild. Against resistant opponents, it was nearly useless.
It was not an attack.
More a disturbance.
He also practiced Internal Heat Circulation, guiding warmth through his body to loosen muscles and improve responsiveness. It proved effective during training, improving agility and flexibility for a short period. But when overused, fatigue followed quickly.
Balance was key.
Occasionally, he concentrated warmth into his hands—a method he referred to as Focused Palm Heat. The heat transferred easily upon contact, useful for breaking grips or forcing release. Yet it required close proximity and carried obvious risks if misjudged.
The most unpredictable experiment was Ignition Delay—heating objects close to combustion without igniting them immediately. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it failed entirely, especially in damp conditions.
None of these methods were powerful.
All of them were flawed.
Yet through repeated trials, Sanhartha gained something far more valuable—understanding. He learned limits. He learned control. He learned the difference between force and refinement.
Power could wait.
Foundation could not.
Sanhartha exhaled softly.
Growth, he realized, was rarely loud.
Today, however, was different.
New students were arriving at the academy.
After stretching briefly, Sanhartha left the valley and walked toward the dormitory. As he approached, raised voices echoed from within—sharp, heated, unmistakable.
He paused.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
So… finally its the time to see him