The First Bow
"I have heard the situation from Azriel," Budha said calmly.
The monk stood quietly within the endless white world, his gray robes hanging loosely over his lean frame. Unlike Azriel, whose very existence felt sharp and violent like a blade stained with countless wars, Budha felt still.
Not weak.
Just… still.
Like a deep lake without ripples.
Anos narrowed his golden eyes slightly while studying him.
The bald monk did not possess Azriel's oppressive aura, nor did he radiate the same bloodthirsty confidence. Yet for some reason, Anos instinctively understood one thing.
This man was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"Do you want to face me in battle to learn Spirit Aura," Budha asked softly, "or do you want me to teach you?"
The moment those words entered his ears, battle instinct immediately surged inside Anos.
Fight him.
That thought appeared naturally.
Almost automatically.
He wanted to see how strong this calm monk truly was.
