Another warrior approached the elder from the direction of the shattered forest. His robes bore the distinct insignia of an inner disciple of the Falling Leaf Sect, the green-silver threads along his sleeves fluttering in the lingering currents of violent energy that still hung in the air after the devastating clash. His expression was solemn and disciplined, yet beneath that practiced composure lay clear tension born from witnessing the overwhelming techniques unleashed moments earlier.

  As he reached the elder, he halted immediately. Bringing his hands together respectfully, he bowed his head with rigid formality before speaking in a voice that carried both urgency and obedience.

  “Elder, we have found it,” the disciple announced carefully, lifting his gaze only slightly as if afraid to meet the elder’s eyes directly. “Our main objective remains the retrieval of that herb, and the sect master has issued strict orders that the mission must not be jeopardised by unnecessary conflict. Please rest until more disciples arrive to secure the perimeter, as instructed.”

  For a brief moment, the elder’s face twisted with irritation, his pride clearly wounded by the fact that the young warrior had forced him to expend such a massive amount of energy and even retreat temporarily from what should have been a decisive victory. The veins along his temples pulsed faintly as he glanced toward the distant valley edge where the injured youth had fallen. It was evident that he wished nothing more than to finish the battle personally and crush the lingering defiance that had dared to challenge his authority.

  However, even someone of his arrogance could not openly defy a direct command issued by the sect master, whose authority within the Falling Leaf Sect was absolute and unquestionable.

  After a tense silence that lasted several seconds, the elder exhaled slowly and nodded.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed fury. “Since the sect master has spoken, I will comply for now. But that brat’s life is already forfeit, and when this mission ends, I will personally hunt him down and make him regret ever crossing our path.”

  Grinding his teeth audibly, he turned away and descended toward the devastated clearing below. The earlier sword rain had completely shredded the trees, and the land lay open and barren like a battlefield carved by the wrath of heaven itself. The open terrain facilitated coordination among arriving disciples and provided a vantage point from which the elder could monitor the surroundings while waiting for reinforcements.

  Meanwhile, hidden far from their awareness, Eklavya watched everything unfold through the piercing clarity of his Supreme Eyes. His gaze absorbed every movement, every fluctuation of aura, and every unspoken tension that lingered beneath the formal exchange between elder and disciple.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The night had begun its slow retreat as dawn crept cautiously across the horizon. Yet the sky remained cloaked in heavy storm clouds that refused to dissipate even as the first faint strands of sunlight attempted to pierce through them. Thunder continued to roll through the heavens in deep, echoing waves, and the occasional streak of lightning illuminated the valley in flashes that made the landscape appear both majestic and foreboding, as if the battlefield itself was unwilling to forget the violence that had taken place.

  Eklavya’s lips curved into a subtle smirk when he noticed that the elder had abandoned the injured young warrior without confirming his death—a decision clearly influenced by the urgency surrounding the mysterious herb.

  Without wasting time, he leapt silently toward the valley’s edge in the direction where the wounded fighter had fallen moments earlier. He moved with calculated precision, concealing his aura and masking even the faintest disturbances that could alert experienced cultivators nearby.

  The deeper he travelled into the valley, the denser the forest became. Towering trees formed a natural canopy that filtered the dim morning light into fractured patterns upon the ground. Thick vines and undergrowth forced him to weave carefully between obstacles to avoid leaving any trace of his passage.

  Although his speed was considerable, Eklavya intentionally slowed his movements as he approached the estimated location of the fallen warrior. He took nearly five minutes to reach the area because caution mattered more than haste when dealing with enemies whose perception could extend across vast distances. Every rustle of leaves, every distant crack of thunder, and every subtle fluctuation in the wind was analysed by his heightened senses, ensuring that no hidden disciple or lurking danger would catch him off guard.

  Finally, he came to a halt behind a broad tree whose roots protruded from the earth like the skeletal fingers of an ancient beast. From that position, he observed the wounded young man resting against a massive stone near the valley’s edge.

  The warrior’s body was covered in blood and deep gashes that spoke of a brutal battle fought without restraint. His once-tidy long hair had come loose, falling across his face and shoulders in tangled strands that clung to his sweat-soaked skin. His chest rose and fell heavily as he struggled to maintain consciousness, and although exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, there remained a stubborn resilience in the way he kept himself upright rather than collapsing completely.

  Eklavya remained silent for several seconds, watching carefully as the injured man’s breathing steadied slightly despite the obvious pain coursing through his body.

  Then, almost imperceptibly, the young warrior’s posture shifted. His senses had detected the faint presence hidden behind the tree—even though Eklavya had masked his aura skillfully.

  Without turning around immediately, he spoke in a hoarse voice that carried both fatigue and an unyielding resolve that refused to fade even in defeat.

  “So… are you here to kill me?”