The mountain wind howled louder than usual that morning.
Clouds drifted restlessly across the sky, as if even the heavens sensed something changing.
In the clearing before the wooden hut, two figures clashed again and again — one swift and fierce, the other relaxed and untouchable.
Aaryan moved faster than ever before.
His footwork skimmed across the rocky ground like flowing water. He pivoted sharply, compressed wind gathering along his palm.
"Wind Tornado!"
A large magic circle formed beneath his feet. Symbols spun rapidly as a roaring spiral of wind burst forward, tearing dirt and stones into the air.
The clearing trembled.
The old man sighed lazily.
He raised two fingers.
The tornado shattered instantly.
The wind scattered like frightened birds.
Before Aaryan could react—
Tap.
Two fingers lightly touched his shoulder.
His balance vanished.
He crashed into the dirt, dust rising around him.
Silence followed.
Aaryan pressed his fists into the ground. Sweat mixed with soil across his face. His chest heaved.
"…Again," he muttered, trying to stand.
"You lost," the old man said casually, already walking back toward his chair.
Aaryan froze.
For five years…
He had trained.
Bled.
Endured.
But he had never once defeated his master.
Just once.
He wanted to win once.
The old man poured tea into his chipped clay cup.
"Today also," he said calmly, "you lose to an old pile of bones."
Aaryan lowered his head.
"How do you expect to survive outside," the old man continued, "if you cannot defeat someone like me?"
The words were sharp.
But they carried no mockery.
Only truth.
The old man took a slow sip.
"…It's time for you to leave."
The world seemed to stop.
"…Leave?" Aaryan repeated.
"You heard me."
Aaryan stood abruptly.
"I'm only twelve!" he protested. "I still need more training! I can stay longer, Master!"
The old man waved a hand dismissively.
"Get out, you stupid boy. I don't run a free food service."
Aaryan's fists trembled.
"I help you here! I carry water, hunt, clean — this mountain is my home too! I'm not leaving!"
The old man stared at him silently.
Then he shrugged.
"Fine. Stay."
Aaryan blinked.
"…After you fail the academy test, you can crawl back here and cry," the old man added calmly. "A fool like you will never pass anyway."
The reaction was instant.
"I WILL pass!" Aaryan shouted. "And when I become stronger, I will defeat you in a duel, Master!"
The old man chuckled.
"I doubt I'll still be alive by then. You might hurt me if you train for another thousand years."
Aaryan crossed his arms stubbornly.
"Then live for a thousand years," he replied firmly. "Because I'm coming back stronger. And when I do… I want you to teach my children too."
For the first time—
The old man's expression flickered.
Then he scoffed loudly.
"Who would marry someone as weak as you? In my time, every great beauty chased after me."
Aaryan stared at him.
"…You're lying."
The old man coughed and turned away.
"Brat."
For a brief moment—
They both laughed.
The mountain wind softened.
Then the old man stood.
His posture changed completely.
No humor.
No laziness.
Only sharp seriousness.
"Listen carefully," he said.
Aaryan straightened instinctively.
"Outside this mountain, no one will feed you. No one will guide you. No one will care whether you live or die."
His gaze hardened.
"Do not forget what you learned here."
Aaryan nodded silently.
"Trust no one easily," the mentor continued. "And never reveal everything you can do. The world respects power… but it hunts potential."
He paused.
"Until you uncover the full truth about your mother's death, your existence itself may invite danger."
Aaryan's expression grew firm.
The old man exhaled slowly.
"From now on… use the name Jayant."
Aaryan looked up.
"Jayant means victory," the old man said. "If you walk the world, walk toward success."
Aaryan placed a hand over his chest.
"…Thank you, Master. I will live up to that name."
The old man turned toward the hut and returned moments later carrying a small travel pack.
He tossed it toward him.
Inside were dried meats, medicinal herbs, spare clothing…
And a worn ring.
Aaryan stared at it quietly.
"…Master…"
He stepped forward.
Then bowed deeply.
Not casually.
Not playfully.
This bow carried five years of gratitude.
"Thank you… for saving my life."
Silence.
"Thank you… for raising me."
The wind rustled softly.
"Thank you… for becoming my master."
The old man did not turn around.
"…Go already," he said roughly.
Aaryan straightened slowly.
He turned toward the mountain path.
Then paused.
"I will return stronger," he said firmly.
"That is my promise."
The old man remained facing the valley.
Aaryan smiled softly.
"…Goodbye, Master."
And he began walking down the mountain.
Step by step.
Leaves drifted across the path as if escorting his departure.
The wind followed him.
The boy who had arrived broken and starving…
Left as Jayant.
Far above, the old man finally turned and watched the small figure disappear into the valley mist.
His eyes were unreadable.
"…You've grown well," he murmured quietly.
The wind circled the peak gently.
"…Let's see what kind of storm you become."
The mountain stood silent once more.
But the world below—
Was waiting.