Deep within Siddharth's secluded cave, silence reigned.
Then—
The necklace on his chest grew warm once more.
"Siddharth…"
Kaushik's ancient voice echoed, steady and clear.
Siddharth opened his eyes instantly. "You're awake again."
"Yes," Kaushik replied. "And this time, I did not wake without reason."
The air around them subtly shifted, as if responding to Kaushik's presence.
"You have crossed a crucial threshold," Kaushik continued. "Your body, soul, and will are now strong enough to bear the second segment of the Beast Transformation Art."
Siddharth's breathing slowed. "So I can finally unlock my second skill?"
"Yes," Kaushik said solemnly. "But remember—each transformation is not merely power. It is a declaration of the path you choose."
Streams of ancient knowledge poured into Siddharth's consciousness.
The Second Beast Transformation was fundamentally different from the first.
The first enhanced physique and bloodline resonance.
The second—granted authority.
Authority borrowed from beasts that once ruled the world.
When the transmission ended, Siddharth opened his eyes slowly, a sharp glint flashing within them.
"I need the right beast," he murmured.
The next day, Siddharth returned to Ayodhya Gurukul.
This time, his destination was clear—the Expert Class Library, specifically its restricted inner section.
He searched methodically, fingers gliding over jade slips and ancient tomes until he found what he was looking for.
Monster Encyclopaedia: Yogi Realm
After hours of reading, one entry made his gaze stop.
Space Bat
Realm: Yogi
Abilities:
– Short-distance spatial teleportation
– Void concealment during mortal danger
– Natural affinity with fractured space
A beast that commanded space itself.
"If I gain this transformation…" Siddharth whispered, "…escape, pursuit, positioning—everything changes."
The decision was immediate.
That same night, a masked figure arrived at the largest trading company in the city.
Shubham was already waiting.
"You're becoming a regular," Shubham said calmly. "What do you need this time?"
"Blood," Siddharth replied. "From a Space Bat. Yogi realm."
Shubham's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That won't be cheap."
"Price is irrelevant," Siddharth said flatly.
After a brief negotiation, the deal was completed. A sealed jade container was placed into Siddharth's hand.
As he turned to leave, Shubham spoke again.
"Wait."
Siddharth paused.
"There is someone who wishes to meet you," Shubham said carefully. "An… important guest. She insists on secrecy."
Siddharth remained silent.
Shubham added, "The Fifth Princess of Kosala Desh."
That made Siddharth turn.
The meeting took place in a soundproof chamber layered with privacy formations.
The Fifth Princess sat calmly, her posture elegant, eyes sharp with intelligence rather than arrogance.
"So you're the masked merchant shaking the markets," she said lightly. "You don't deny it. Interesting."
"I don't confirm things that don't matter," Siddharth replied.
She smiled faintly. "Straightforward. I like that."
Her tone shifted, becoming serious.
"The Yadav family has noticed you. So have several sects. If they decide you are a threat, they will move without warning."
"And?" Siddharth asked.
"I can offer protection," she said. "Political shelter. Information. Delay when necessary."
"In exchange?" Siddharth asked calmly.
"Future cooperation," the Princess replied. "When I need resources… or discretion."
Siddharth considered it carefully.
Protection was useful.
But dependence was dangerous.
"I accept," he said at last, "but understand this—our cooperation is conditional, not permanent."
The Princess's eyes gleamed.
"Of course," she said softly. "A man like you wouldn't belong to anyone."
They stood.
An alliance had formed—thin as silk, sharp as a blade.
As Siddharth left, one thought echoed clearly in his mind:
This world isn't ruled by strength alone.
It's ruled by those who know when to strike… and when to hide their hand.
And the game had only just begun.
The market district of Ayodhya City was as noisy as ever—merchants shouting, cultivators bargaining, prana fluctuations overlapping chaotically.
Yet amidst that chaos, a single figure stood out.
A masked man in black robes, walking calmly through the streets.
Behind him followed a cultivator whose presence was unnervingly silent.
No aura leaked. No footsteps echoed. No emotion showed.
But anyone with sufficient perception would feel it instantly—
Yogi-rank pressure.
High above, from the balcony of a tea pavilion, a pair of aged eyes narrowed.
Shatrujit Dhairya.
Elder of the Dhairya Sect, master of puppet refinement, and one of the few individuals in Kosala Desh who truly understood the terror of artificial life.
"A Yogi-rank puppet…" Shatrujit murmured. "And it walks like a shadow."
His fingers tapped slowly against the railing.
"No sect insignia. No clan markings. Masked. Calm."
Dangerous.
Shatrujit did not act rashly. Instead, he summoned a man clad in grey robes, his aura tightly restrained yet unfathomably deep.
"Follow him," Shatrujit ordered softly. "Do not engage. Observe. Learn who stands behind him."
The man bowed.
A Rishi-rank scout vanished into the crowd.
Siddharth felt it almost immediately.
A gaze.
Not hostile. Not careless.
Calculated.
Kailash's voice echoed softly in his mind.
"Master… someone powerful is observing us."
Siddharth did not react outwardly. He continued walking, turning down alleys, passing markets, eventually leaving the main district altogether.
The scout followed flawlessly.
Too flawlessly.
Rishi realm, Siddharth assessed calmly.
A probe.
He smiled beneath his mask.
Instead of returning to his inn, Siddharth led the scout toward an abandoned compound near the city's edge—a massive building once used to store sect resources, now long forgotten.
Broken gates. Cracked stone walls. Prana residue so dense it distorted perception.
The scout slowed.
Something was wrong.
This place was too quiet.
Too clean.
Too prepared.
The instant the scout stepped inside—
The gates closed silently.
Ten breaths.
That was all it took.
The air split.
From opposite directions, two figures emerged.
One radiated overwhelming, ancient pressure— Acharya-rank.
The other moved like flowing wind— Yogi-rank.
Both held swords.
Not crude weapons, but refined artifacts engraved with ruin inscriptions.
Their movements were flawless.
Their eyes were empty.
And yet—
Perfectly focused.
The scout reacted instantly, his Rishi-rank aura exploding outward as he attempted to retreat—
Too late.
First breath.
The Yogi puppet activated Garuda Wings, space folding beneath its feet as it closed the distance instantly.
Second breath.
A Rishi-rank mobility art countered the scout's escape.
Third breath.
Steel flashed.
The Acharya puppet struck—not with brute force, but with precision refined by Jal Taral sword arts, all executed flawlessly, without hesitation or error.
Fourth breath.
Blood sprayed.
Fifth breath.
The scout's defensive artifact shattered.
Sixth breath.
A sword pierced his heart.
Seventh breath.
His consciousness faded.
Eighth breath.
His body collapsed.
Ninth breath.
Space warped.
Tenth breath—
The corpse disappeared.
No remains. No aura. No trace.
As if the man had never existed.
Siddharth stepped forward calmly.
"Clean," he said softly.
Both puppets knelt instantly.
Perfect obedience.
No wasted motion. No emotional fluctuation.
This confirms it, Siddharth thought coldly.
They are not merely tools.
They were strategic trump cards.
Back at the Dhairya Sect, Elder Shatrujit Dhairya frowned as his soul-mark shattered without warning.
"…Ten breaths," he whispered.
His expression darkened—not with rage, but with fear.
"A masked individual… commanding Yogi rank puppet…"
Shatrujit slowly clenched his fist.
"This is no background figure," he muttered. "This is a storm walking in human form."
Far away, Siddharth adjusted his mask and walked back into the city—
Leaving behind only silence.
And fear.