The auction hall gradually emptied.
One by one, powerful figures departed—sect elders, noble envoys, masked experts—each carrying either satisfaction or resentment. Siddharth walked out last, his black robe blending into the dusk, his face hidden beneath the familiar mask.
Before he could leave the trading district, a soft but urgent voice stopped him.
"Honored guest."
Siddharth turned.
Shubham stood a short distance away, his expression no longer calm and businesslike. For the first time since Siddharth had met him, the Acharya-rank manager looked… strained.
"I request a private word," Shubham said carefully.
Siddharth nodded once.
They entered a quiet side chamber, layered with isolation formations. Only when the door sealed did Shubham speak again.
"There is a problem," he said bluntly. "A serious one."
Siddharth remained silent.
Shubham took a breath. "Blood essence. Across Kosala Desh—Shishya, Sadhak, even Yogi-tier. Supplies have dropped sharply in the last two months."
Siddharth's eyes flickered beneath the mask.
Sect pressure, then.
Shubham continued, "Several major sects and ancient families are demanding exclusive supply agreements. They believe an unknown refiner is disrupting the market."
He paused, watching Siddharth closely.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that… would you?"
Siddharth let out a soft, amused chuckle.
"Manager Shubham," he said calmly, his voice deliberately distorted.
"Do you really think an Acharya refiner would bother refining Shishya-grade essence?"
That single sentence shifted the atmosphere.
Shubham stiffened.
Acharya…? Or higher?
"I only deal in opportunities," Siddharth continued. "If supply is low, demand rises. That benefits your trading house."
Shubham smiled bitterly. "It also paints a target on my back. The sects believe I'm hiding the source."
"Then don't hide it," Siddharth replied. "Redirect it."
Shubham frowned. "Redirect?"
"Release blood essence in waves," Siddharth said evenly.
"Small, inconsistent quantities. Different cities. Different timings. Never enough to satisfy demand, never scarce enough to provoke open conflict."
Shubham's eyes widened.
"That would stabilize prices… while keeping everyone desperate."
"And dependent," Siddharth added.
Silence filled the room.
After several breaths, Shubham exhaled slowly.
"You're not just selling blood essence," he said quietly.
"You're controlling the flow of cultivation itself."
Siddharth neither confirmed nor denied it.
"I will provide you Shishya and Sadhak-tier essence on my terms," Siddharth said.
"Yogi-tier only when I decide. Rishi-tier… when the world is ready."
Shubham swallowed.
"And in return?"
"You take your cut. You take the blame. You enjoy the profits."
A pause.
"And you never ask who I am."
Shubham straightened and bowed deeply.
"As long as I live," he said, "the source of blood essence will remain… unknown."
Siddharth turned toward the door.
Behind the mask, his thoughts were cold and clear.
Cultivation is power.
Power shapes fate.
And fate… can be bought.
As he stepped back into the night, an invisible shift rippled across Kosala Desh.
No banners were raised.
No proclamations were made.
Yet somewhere in the shadows—
An unseen economic power had been born.
Siddharth returned to his cave.
The sealed jade container lay before Siddharth.
Even without opening it, the pressure leaking from within made the air heavy, as though the cave itself feared what it held.
Maharishi-rank monster blood.
One drop of it was worth more than entire cultivation clans. It was the kind of treasure that could push a Sadhak straight toward transcendence—if they survived the process.
Kailash's voice echoed softly in Siddharth's mind.
With this, you could leap realms.
Siddharth shook his head.
"No."
The answer was absolute.
"If I consume it, my foundation will fracture," he said calmly. "Power gained too early becomes a chain later."
Instead, his gaze shifted to the center of the secluded cave, where a vast refining array had already been prepared—one far more complex than anything he had used before.
"This blood has a better purpose."
The refining began.
First, Siddharth refined the Maharishi-rank blood—not into ordinary essence, but into a single, condensed core of will-infused blood essence. The process was violent. The cave walls cracked. Ancient inscriptions carved into the stone ignited one by one.
Next came the body.
Bones of multiple high-tier beasts—each reforged, fused, and tempered—were shaped into a humanoid frame. Every joint was engraved with ruin inscriptions extracted from the incomplete Beast Emperor Scripture.
Then came the most dangerous step.
Siddharth slit his palm.
His blood flowed—not into the array, but directly into the forming puppet.
"This is not a tool," he said softly.
"This is a will that answers to mine."
He closed his eyes and pressed his palm against the puppet's chest.
His intent, his dominance, his unyielding path—all of it surged forward.
The Maharishi blood ignited.
The inscriptions screamed.
For a moment, Siddharth felt as if something ancient was staring back at him—testing him.
He did not flinch.
"I am your master," he declared. "Kneel to my will—or be unmade."
Light exploded through the cave.
When it finally faded, a man stood where the array had been.
He looked human—perfectly so. Broad-shouldered, tall, his presence calm yet oppressive. No monster core marked his forehead. No artificial signs remained.
He opened his eyes.
They were clear. Intelligent. Alive.
The man dropped to one knee instantly.
"Awaiting orders," he said, voice steady and respectful.
Siddharth exhaled slowly.
Acharya-rank.
Fully sentient.
Capable of judgment.
Yet bound—absolutely.
Not by chains.
By will.
"You understand who you are?" Siddharth asked.
"Yes," the man replied. "I exist to serve you. My judgment is yours to command."
Siddharth studied him for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"From this moment onward, your name is Aryavardhan."
The man placed his fist to his chest.
"Your shadow," Aryavardhan said.
"Your blade."
"Your general."
A rare smile touched Siddharth's lips.
At last—
He did not merely have strength.
He had command.
And in the darkness beneath the world, a shadow general had been born—one who would move unseen, decide without hesitation, and execute without mercy.
Siddharth turned toward the cave entrance, eyes sharp.
The board is set, he thought.
Now… the real game begins.