Instructor Faala clapped her hands, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"A key detail about our organization, one I nearly forgot."
A tense silence fell as her solemn gaze swept over them.
"In a previous class, I explained the professions of Sadhakas. What I omitted is what we are called. Followers of the Asuras or any non-orthodox religions are known as Adharmik."
'Adharmik,' Ashan cataloged the term. Outsiders. Heretics.
"That is the name for Sadhakas like us, who do not follow the orthodox Devas of mainstream humanity," she continued.
Then, she muttered under her breath, almost too softly to hear, "Why did I forget? The leeches. I forgot to eat my leeches."
A profound, horrified silence gripped the class.
'Don't tell me the totem animal of each house is a dietary supplement,' Ashan thought with a wave of visceral disgust.
'Do I have to eat snakes? Absolutely fucking not.'
Noticing the frozen terror on their faces, Faala continued as if nothing had happened, her voice returning to its solemn drone.
"Today is the final session. You have the basics of Ashurain. Further study is your own responsibility. Consult the texts."
Dris whispered, "Hell yeah! Just the old man's class left."
Instructor Faala's eyes snapped to him. "Rejoice. Old Dhren's class is also concluding today." Dris immediately bowed his head, chastened.
'Ending the theory classes? '
Ashan's mind, ever wary, latched onto the anomaly.
'Why now? This feels like the calm before a storm. They're streamlining us for a purpose.'
Her voice grew grim, lowering an octave.
"Heed this warning: the Law of Address and Gaze. Never address higher beings by their true names. Never craft their idols or gaze directly upon their representations. It is absolute taboo."
She let the weight of that settle before delivering the final, brutal truth.
"And the second law… the law that underpins our existence, and one of the root causes for which Sadhakas hunt one another."
'Just say it,' Ashan willed silently.
The silence was so deep they could hear their own blood pulsing.
"It is the Law of Essence Continuity. Upon death, a Sadhaka—any being who has walked this path—leaves behind an imprint of their essence, a Vestige. These vestiges can be refined into pills, elixirs, weapons... or absorbed directly to augment one's own power."
The revelation landed like a physical blow.
'We're all walking ingredients,' Ashan realized, the cynical logic of this world clicking into a horrifying new configuration.
'Pills and power-ups in sentient form. No wonder the Order is so open about it; it sows paranoia and Darwinian competition from the start. It's not a secret to be kept, but a rule of the game to be learned early.'
His eyes scanned the room. Where moments before there had been a semblance of camaraderie, now there was only a field of potential resources.
Guarded looks, assessing glances.
The fragile bonds of the past weeks shattered in an instant.
'Cautious now? Fools,' he observed coldly. 'But this... This is a universal justification. A license to kill, wrapped in the cold logic of progression.'
Instructor Faala continued, clinical and detached. "There are three types: vital, soul, and unified vestiges, corresponding to their marga. A Sadhaka can only absorb the Vestige of one of the same or lower rank and of a compatible path."
GONG! GONG! GONG!
The bell rang, ending the lesson, but the new, terrifying reality had just begun.
***
A palpable tension strangled the air as they filed into the combat hall.
The Law of Essence Continuity had redefined every glance, every stance.
They were no longer just candidates; they were each other's potential harvest.
Instructor Yessa's furious roar was almost a relief.
"Hurry up, you insolent vermin!"
They scrambled to their stones, the unbroken rocks a testament to their collective weakness. After three days, not one had been destroyed.
Yessa let out a sigh of pure disgust. "Weak. But it seems some of you aren't complete fools. Using your Life Sense to find the weak points was... adequate."
His eyes swept over Ashan and a few others.
"This exercise was always about strengthening your foundational control of Prana. And to remind you that you are still nothing." He placed a stone before him. "Now, you learn, Kiriya. Follow my breathing."
Ashan activated his Life Sense, watching the intricate flow of prana within the instructor's body. Yessa circulated energy from his core, down his legs, up through his hips, and into a tightly clenched fist. The limb began to glow with a dark, bluish light.
CRACK!
In one swift, brutal motion, the Prana-infused stone exploded into dust.
"This is the [Broken Stone Fist]. Now. Make your fists glow."
The class descended into a new kind of frenzy. Ashan focused, replicating the breathing pattern, forcing prana into his hand. A faint, sputtering glow enveloped his fist. He struck.
Crack! A web of fractures spread across the stone's surface, but it held.
'Stubborn bastard,' he thought, readying himself for another strike.
***
"My time with you has ended," Instructor Dhren announced, his voice tinged with a hint of theatrical regret. "I have but one final lecture to impart."
'Nothing to regret, old man. Just finish,' Dris pleaded internally.
"To celebrate our farewell, we shall have a comprehensive review! Medical herbs, Rakshasa and Manuga biology, their powers and weaknesses—"
Dris looked ready to chew through the stone floor. Helma's face was a mask of pained endurance, as if the information was physically assaulting her.
'This is the ultimate cram session,' Ashan mused, memories of frantic, all-night study videos from his past life surfacing.
'There were good times, bad times, and worse times. Now, there is only survival. Leisure is a currency I can't afford.' He forced his focus back to the droning lecture, cataloging every detail, knowing any piece of knowledge could be the difference between being the hunter and the ingredient.
***
"Finally! No more lectures!" Dris exclaimed as they filed out, the emotional whiplash from Dhren's marathon session leaving him giddy.
"Don't speak too soon," Helma warned, though she too looked relieved.
Ballio, ever the enthusiast, began, "Well, I thought it was fascinating how he explained—"
Dris clamped a hand over his mouth. "No. More. Words."
"Hey, you'll choke him!" Rodric intervened, trying to pry Dris's hand away.
"If he died, a Unified Vestige would come out, right?" Helma asked with chilling innocence.
"According to Instructor Faala, yes," Damara confirmed.
"Shall we find out?" Imla added, her tone lethally nonchalant.
Ballio, finally free, gasped for air. "W-What do you—cough—mean?"
"We can experiment later," Ashan interjected, moving them along. "We're late for Instructor Inira."
"Wait, Ashan, you're joking, right?" Ballio's voice was pitched high with fear.
Rodric placed a calming hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "I've tried to reason with him. You should just prepare yourself."
As the others shared a moment of dark, strained laughter, Ashan watched them. His eyes held a complex, untold emotion.
'To laugh without fear, to hope for peaceful days... that is the most foolish and unattainable hope of all.'