Moksh, haunted by Professor Kirigaya's cryptic final message and confession of responsibility, is called back by his sister Tara, who feels him growing distant. Moksh is preoccupied with deciphering the professor's video, which seems to relate to S.S. Peterson's lost case. Albert, Grandmaster Elias's aide, urges Moksh to see the Grandmaster, but Moksh is focused on the video, which reveals an encrypted file containing a riddle. The riddle speaks of a "seed of thought," a "tower," a "rising sun," and a "weeping master," perplexing Moksh and Albert. Pragya then arrives, insisting Moksh see the Grandmaster immediately, leaving Moksh to ponder the riddle's meaning and its possible connection to a map.
The phrase echoed in Moksh's mind, a haunting refrain that seemed to cling to the very air of the Academy's silent corridor: "then the master wept." It swirled within him, a vortex of questions and half-formed theories. Could it be? Could it truly mean a teacher, a Grandmaster, brought low by the triumph of their own student? But why? What could drive such a reversal, such a poignant defeat?
He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't hear Pragya's voice, soft yet sharp, cutting through his internal turmoil. "What are you thinking about, Moksh?"
He started, the question jolting him back to the present. He couldn't share the thoughts that raced through his mind, the unsettling implications of the Grandmaster's riddle. Not yet. Not with the ever-watchful presence of Albert nearby. He offered a curt, dismissive reply, "Nothing."
Albert, ever the keen observer, noticed the exchange, the subtle tension that crackled between Moksh and Pragya. But he said nothing, his silence a heavy cloak of its own. He knew Moksh well enough to understand that pushing would only drive him further into himself. He would reveal his thoughts when he was ready.
The three of them continued their walk, the silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken questions. The corridor seemed to lengthen, the shadows deepening with each step, until they finally reached their destination: Grandmaster Elias's room.
Pragya's knock was sharp and precise, a counterpoint to the turmoil within Moksh. A voice, calm and deep, resonated from within. "Come in."
They entered, the room bathed in a soft, golden light that did little to dispel the air of mystery that clung to it. Grandmaster Elias sat behind a large, ornate desk, the very picture of serene authority. He was signing some documents, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each stroke held a hidden meaning.
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over them, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Mr. Moksh, Mr. Albert, and Miss Pragya, please have a seat."
They obeyed, the silence stretching once more as Elias finished his task. The scratching of his pen seemed amplified in the stillness, each sound a tiny hammer blow against Moksh's mounting anxiety.
Finally, Elias set the pen down, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He turned his full attention to Moksh. "Sign here." He slid a document across the desk.
Moksh's eyes narrowed. He knew what it was. The weapon test. The very thing he had refused. "Sir," he said, his voice tight with barely suppressed frustration, "I already told you, I won't take the weapon test. Why are you forcing me?"
Albert, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward. "You almost died at the hands of that Phantom that day, Moksh. If Pragya hadn't followed you…" He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. You wouldn't be here.
Then, a change came over Albert, his face clouding with a deep sadness. He looked at Elias, then back at Moksh, his voice filled with a painful resignation. "I don't think Galith will accept me anymore, so please forgive me." He turned, as if to leave, the weight of his failure pressing down on him.
It was then that Moksh saw it. A framed picture, tucked away in the right corner of the room, almost hidden in the shadows. It showed Grandmaster Elias and his former students, standing together, a testament to years of training and shared experience. And there, among them, unmistakable, was Professor Kazuto.
A jolt, like a lightning strike, went through Moksh. It clicked. The pieces fell into place. "Yes," he thought, his mind racing, "the professor was the Grandmaster's student."
He turned back, his eyes fixed on Elias, the question burning within him. "Sir, I have a question."
Elias inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Ask."
"Wasn't Professor Kazuto your student?" Moksh asked, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.
Elias's eyes flickered, a subtle shift in his demeanor, but his voice remained calm, almost amused. "Why?"
Moksh pressed on, driven by a desperate need to understand. "Then I have a riddle for you, which I got from the data in the professor's chip. It could help us a lot in finding his diary. Please."
Elias smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent a shiver down Moksh's spine. "Alright, show me."
Moksh pulled out the data chip, the weight of it heavy in his hand. He projected the riddle onto the wall, the words glowing in the dim light:
From seed of thought, a tower grew,
in lands of rising sun's soft hue.
A final gate, where wisdom slept,
was breached, and then the master wept.
What journey's end, where pupil's might,
eclipsed the source of guiding light?
Elias studied the riddle, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence stretched, filled only with the hum of the projector and the frantic beating of Moksh's heart.
Finally, Elias looked up, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Yes, I know the answer." A triumphant smile played on his lips. "But I'll only tell you if you sign this paper and promise to take the weapon test."
Moksh's frustration boiled over. "Sir, you're playing a trick game with me!"
Elias chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Why? Can only Mr. Albert and you play?" He laughed again, the sound echoing in the room, a challenge and a promise.
Moksh, his options exhausted, his need for the answer overwhelming his reluctance, gave in. "Fine," he said, his voice tight with resignation, "tell me where to sign."
The scene shifted, the tension momentarily broken as they emerged from the Grandmaster's room. Albert, ever the loyal friend, couldn't resist a dig. "Didn't the sir trick you?"
Moksh, his mind still reeling from the encounter, could only offer a weary reply. "Only he could know the answer."
Pragya, her eyes twinkling with amusement, laughed. "You guys go ahead, I'll arrange the weapon test."
"Okay," Moksh said, his thoughts already turning to the riddle, to the secrets it held.
Albert, his curiosity piqued, pressed him. "Can you explain what the sir said again?"
The scene shifted back to Grandmaster Elias's room, the air thick with the weight of the agreement.
"So, you'll take the weapon test tomorrow?" Elias asked, his voice a low purr.
"Yes, sir," Moksh confirmed, the words heavy with a sense of inevitability.
Elias leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "And yes, the answer to your question is: the progression from student to grandmaster, culminating in the student's victory over the teacher in the final test in Japan."
Albert, his brow furrowed, asked the question that burned in both their minds. "How?"
Elias, a hint of pride in his voice, began to explain. "Let's break down the puzzle step-by-step:
"From seed of thought, a tower grew": This represents the process of learning and developing skills, starting from a basic idea or concept. The "tower" symbolizes the accumulated knowledge and expertise.
"in lands of rising sun's soft hue": This clearly points to Japan, known as the "Land of the Rising Sun."
"A final gate, where wisdom slept": This refers to the final exam or challenge, a test of the accumulated wisdom.
"was breached, and then the master wept": "Breached" signifies passing the final exam or overcoming the final challenge. "The master wept" implies the defeat of the teacher by their student.
"What journey's end, where pupil's might, eclipsed the source of guiding light?": This is the question that sums up the entire puzzle. It asks to identify the process where a student surpasses their teacher.
"Therefore," Elias concluded, his voice ringing with authority, "the solution to the puzzle is the progression from student to grandmaster, culminating in the student's victory over the teacher in a final test in Japan. And I had taken the last test for those seven to become elite in Sugisawa-mura (Sugisawa village) in Japan."
The scene changed once more, returning to Moksh and Albert, the weight of the Grandmaster's words hanging between them.
Albert, ever the pragmatist, had already turned to the most readily available source of information. "According to the internet, that village doesn't exist on the map anymore."
Moksh shook his head, a grim determination hardening his features. "Relying on the internet all the time won't do. We have to investigate there."
They left the academy, the setting sun casting long shadows that stretched and danced around them like phantoms. The air was thick with unspoken questions, the silence heavy with the weight of their newfound knowledge.
"Will you come with me to the quarters, or do you have work?" Moksh asked, breaking the silence. He needed to process everything, to sift through the fragments of information and piece together the puzzle.
Albert hesitated, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Yes, I have work."
"What?" Moksh pressed, his curiosity piqued.
"I have to take Sejal out," Albert mumbled, his gaze shifting away.
"Oh, a date," Moksh said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Albert's blush deepened. "Why do you need to know so much? You just know."
"Okay, okay," Moksh said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But as he turned away, a shadow fell over his face. He felt a pang of something akin to loneliness, a sense of being adrift.
He watched Albert walk away, his steps light and eager, and then turned toward his own quarters, the weight of the day pressing down on him. The image of the hidden village, Sugisawa-mura, haunted his thoughts. A village that had vanished from the map, a place where masters wept and students triumphed. It was a place of secrets, a place where Professor Kazuto's final test had taken place, and a place where Moksh now knew he had to go.
The next day, the Academy's training arena buzzed with an unusual tension. The weapon test was about to begin, and all eyes were on Moksh. Pragya stood at the control panel, her expression a mix of professional detachment and a hint of concern. Grandmaster Elias watched from the elevated platform, his gaze fixed on Moksh, an unreadable expression on his face.
Moksh stood in the center of the arena, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had spent the night reviewing the data from Professor Kazuto's chip, searching for any clues that might help him understand the riddle, the village, the master's tears. But the information was fragmented, cryptic, leaving him with more questions than answers.
The test began. The arena was filled with holographic projections of combat drones, their movements swift and deadly. Moksh moved with a newfound agility, his senses heightened, his reflexes sharp. He parried, dodged, and countered, his movements fluid and precise. But the drones were relentless, their attacks coming from all sides, testing his limits.
As the test progressed, Moksh felt a strange sense of detachment, as if he were watching himself from a distance. He was no longer fighting the drones; he was fighting the riddle, the mystery, the weight of the past. He was fighting for answers.
Suddenly, a drone lunged forward, its blade aimed at his chest. He reacted instinctively, twisting his body to avoid the blow, but the blade grazed his arm, leaving a searing pain. He stumbled, his concentration broken. The drones closed in, their attacks relentless.
He fell to his knees, his breath ragged, his body aching. He looked up at Grandmaster Elias, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. But Elias's expression remained unchanged, a mask of serene indifference.
Then, something shifted within Moksh. A surge of adrenaline, a primal instinct, a burning desire to understand, to unravel the mystery. He rose to his feet, his movements no longer fluid, but powerful, driven by a raw, untamed energy.
He moved through the drones like a whirlwind, his attacks swift and brutal. He no longer parried; he attacked, his movements fueled by a desperate need to survive, to understand. He felt the sting of the drones blades on his skin, but he ignored the pain, his focus unwavering. From the moment the last holographic drone dissolved, a strange stillness settled over the arena. The air crackled with an unseen energy, a palpable shift in the atmosphere. Then, a phenomenon occurred that defied all logic and understanding. A swirling vortex of dark energy materialized in the sky above the arena, a rent in the fabric of reality itself. From this swirling darkness, a sword descended, its blade as black as the void, its hilt intricately carved with symbols that pulsed with an eerie light.
The sword hung suspended in mid-air, its presence radiating an immense power that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. But it was Moksh, and only Moksh, who heard the voice, a resonant whisper that echoed within the deepest recesses of his mind.
"Moksh… it's been a long time. I thought you wouldn't come back. You ran away in fear. But I can't believe that you'll pass the test so easily and come to me and I'll accept you. I have a test you need to pass."
The voice was cold, ancient, and laced with a hint of mocking amusement. Moksh's mind reeled, trying to comprehend the impossible. A talking sword? A test within a test?
His unique ability, the power to copy anything into his mind, to absorb and utilize any form of knowledge or power, kicked into overdrive. He focused on the sword, on the voice, on the energy that pulsed within them, and his mind began to process the information, to unravel the secrets that lay hidden within.
"Who are you?" Moksh asked, his voice a mere whisper, his eyes fixed on the black sword.
"I am Galith," the voice replied, its tone laced with a hint of impatience. "And you, Moksh, are about to face your true test."
The sword began to glow with an intense, dark light, and the arena around Moksh transformed, the walls dissolving into a swirling vortex of shadows. He found himself standing on a desolate, windswept plain, the sky above a swirling canvas of black and crimson.
"This is my realm, Moksh," Galith's voice echoed in his mind. "A reflection of your inner self. To prove your worth, you must conquer your fears, your doubts, your very essence."
Galith then projected a series of images into Moksh's mind. Each image showed events from Moksh's past, moments of failure, of weakness, of fear. He saw himself as a child, cowering in the face of bullies, as a student, failing to master a complex technique, as a fugitive, running from the Phantoms.
"These are your shadows, Moksh," Galith's voice resonated. "They are the chains that bind you, the walls that confine you. Break them, or be consumed by them."
Moksh's mind reeled, the images a painful reminder of his past failures. He felt a surge of fear, of doubt, threatening to overwhelm him. But then, he remembered his ability. He focused on the images, not as sources of fear, but as sources of knowledge. He absorbed the emotions, the techniques, the strategies, the very essence of each moment, and transformed them into weapons.
He faced his inner demons, not with fear, but with a newfound understanding. He used the bullies' aggression against them, the failed techniques to create new, more effective ones, the Phantoms' ruthlessness to fuel his own determination.
He moved through the desolate plain, his movements fluid and powerful, his mind clear and focused. He faced each challenge, each obstacle, each manifestation of his inner fears, and he conquered them.
As he progressed, he felt a change within himself, a shedding of the old, a forging of the new. The fear that had once held him captive was replaced by a sense of purpose, the doubt by a unwavering confidence. He was no longer running from his past; he was embracing it, transforming it into his strength.
Finally, he stood before Galith, the black sword hovering in the air before him. The desolate plain had transformed into a tranquil garden, the sky a clear, star-studded expanse.
"You have passed, Moksh," Galith's voice echoed, no longer cold, but filled with a hint of respect. "You have faced your shadows, and you have emerged victorious."
The sword descended, its blade no longer radiating darkness, but a soft, ethereal light. It rested in Moksh's outstretched hand, its weight surprisingly light, its presence a comforting warmth.
"I accept you, Moksh," Galith's voice echoed in his mind, a deep, resonant sound. "You are worthy of my power."
Moksh felt a surge of energy, a merging of his own essence with that of the sword. He understood Galith, its history, its power, its purpose. It was a weapon of immense power, but also a tool of profound wisdom, a guide, a companion.
"Thank you, Galith," Moksh said, his voice filled with a newfound confidence. "I will not disappoint you." As the black sword, Galith, settled into Moksh's hand, a profound sense of connection washed over him. The transformation of the arena, from a desolate plain to a tranquil garden, mirrored the change within him. The fear and doubt that had plagued him were replaced by a quiet confidence, a sense of purpose that resonated deep within his soul.
"Thank you, Galith," Moksh said, his voice steady, his gaze fixed on the sword. "I accept your… acceptance."
Galith's voice, now a gentle resonance within his mind, replied, "The journey is far from over, Moksh. The shadows you faced were but a glimpse of the darkness that lies ahead. But you have proven yourself worthy. You have shown the strength to confront your inner demons, and that is the first step towards true mastery."
The sword in his hand pulsed with a subtle warmth, a comforting presence that reassured him. Moksh felt a sense of unity with Galith, an understanding that transcended words. He knew that this was not merely a weapon, but a companion, a guide, a source of strength.
The arena began to shimmer, the tranquil garden fading back into the familiar training grounds of the Academy. Grandmaster Elias stood before him, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on the sword in Moksh's hand.
"The test is complete," Elias said, his voice low and resonant. "You have… acquired a powerful ally."
Moksh nodded, his gaze shifting to Elias. He sensed a subtle shift in the Grandmaster's demeanor, a hint of something akin to respect.
"Galith has shown me… my path," Moksh said, his voice filled with a newfound conviction. "I understand now what I must do."
He looked around the arena, the familiar training grounds now imbued with a sense of purpose. He felt a surge of energy, a determination to face the challenges that lay ahead.
"The journey to Sugisawa-mura begins now," Moksh said, his voice firm. "And I will not rest until I uncover the truth."
He turned to leave, Galith resting comfortably in his hand, a silent promise of strength and guidance. He felt a sense of anticipation, a readiness to face the unknown. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but he also knew that he was no longer alone. He had Galith, his companion, his guide, his strength. And he had the unwavering determination to uncover the secrets of Sugisawa-mura, to unravel the mystery that had consumed Professor Kazuto, and to face the shadows that lurked in the darkness.