Chapter 21: Fire Beneath the Veil
Holding Ashratal in my hands, I tried to feel its power.
There was no elemental signature. No unique attribute like my father's blazing force or Raj's eerie blue flame. Just the halberd's quiet hum, a deep, muted vibration in tune with my pulse. Perhaps it was because I hadn't awakened an attribute yet. Or perhaps this weapon was different—more patient, more demanding.
Attributes were a complex topic in the world of hunters. Contrary to popular belief, most average hunters didn't have mastery over even one. They simply manipulated raw mana—shaping it, densifying it, focusing it—using standard techniques. But attributes brought something else. An additional layer of lethality. A unique imprint.
From the basic elements—Fire, Water, Earth, Air—to rarer ones like Lightning, Ice, or even Space and Light, attributes were as varied as imagination allowed. Some were based on emotion. Others, on belief. A few conceptual ones like "Decay" or "Judgment" even bordered on divine.
Yet no attribute was inherently stronger than another. Raj once fought and defeated a monster that wielded spatial distortions with nothing but pure fire mana. What mattered most was mastery. Imagination. Control. Execution.
My halberd's silence wasn't weakness.
It was a test.
"Your weapon demands excellence," Father said as he approached the great spear monument—Agnidhvaja. "It's highly offensive in nature but requires immense control. You've two options: train here with Raj or enter a dungeon on your own. Sometimes firsthand experience is the best teacher."
We stood around a hundred meters from Agnidhvaja, the flame-bathed relic of our bloodline. As we approached, a structure became visible at its base—a circular stone building with reinforced metal accents. Like a sacred warehouse.
With every step closer, the temperature rose. Even with my mana skin active, I could feel the heat crawling under my skin, seeping into my lungs. Twenty meters from the structure, I reached my limit. My mana skin trembled and thinned.
Seeing this, both Father and Raj halted.
"This is the secret warehouse," Father said. "Your grandfather poured his soul into building its defenses. Inside, the concentration of fire mana is extreme. Even with Rank 4 mana skin, it's hard to remain unharmed. It's rigged with ancient defenses. No one below Rank 4 can even enter without being incinerated."
He turned to me.
"I'll retrieve two items for you: an armor and an accessory. Any attribute in mind?"
I thought for a moment. "For armor, something with high protection. And for the accessory... something that regenerates mana."
Father nodded.
With measured steps, he walked into the heat, his white dhoti fluttering in the searing wind. His entire body was wrapped in invisible layers of mana. The fabric shimmered faintly—an enchanted piece, no doubt. Even his belt, made of leather and embedded with gems, seemed to pulse with power.
Indian hunter aesthetics had their own identity. Where the West relied on bulky, metallic armor, and China used flowing, layered robes, Indian battle attire was symbolic and spiritual. A dhoti laced with barriers. An anklet infused with speed. A turban that carried a saint's memory.
Somewhere deep in my heart, I appreciated that style. There was grace in simplicity. Power in tradition.
I turned to Raj.
He was watching Father disappear into the building. Sensing my gaze, he smirked.
"Told you. Father's power is a mystery. Rank 2 or not, the man's different. I've seen him erupt with pressure that makes Rank 4s buckle. Uncle Anil too. They both hide too much."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what about you? Rank 5 with a hidden trick up your sleeve?"
His grin vanished.
Without warning, Raj summoned his Soul Spear.
Mana exploded.
His form shimmered, and his casual clothes were replaced by hunter battle garb—a purple dhoti with a bronze chestplate. Blue-bronze bracers adorned his forearms. A single long earring danced beside his cheek.
His expression changed. He wasn't my joking brother anymore. He was fire incarnate.
The very earth trembled beneath his feet.
Heat erupted in a radius around him. The stone underfoot began to melt. My skin blistered. My lungs screamed for relief. Even with my mana skin reinforced, it wasn't enough.
I staggered.
Thrusting Ashratal into the ground, I used it to stay upright.
Raj's voice came calm but thunderous through the blaze.
"Don't mistake yourself as special. Just because you awakened late doesn't mean you're chosen. We've all suffered. We've all bled. Every hunter carries secrets and regrets. This world... it doesn't forgive the arrogant."
The pressure vanished.
Raj stood there again—normal, relaxed, his spear gone.
I looked down. My skin was scorched, covered in burns. My limbs ached. Blood pulsed through me like fire.
He tossed me a potion vial. "You're not bad. Just not ready. Yet."
I drank. The pain eased immediately. My skin began to heal.
A moment later, heavy footsteps approached.
Father returned, calm and composed.
He looked at the molten ground, then at Raj.
Raj gave a sheepish smile. "A small demonstration."
Father narrowed his eyes.
"Change your earrings. The effect layering is weak. Your mana skin hexagon matrix is unstable. Also, your spear is evolving. You're nearing your threshold. Either stabilize or risk regression."
He walked closer and placed a hand on Raj's shoulder.
"You're on the verge of surpassing your guildmaster. When your power consolidates fully, we'll need to talk about your future. Whether you wish to form your own guild, claim territory, or take a Saint's trial to become a zone master of Delhi—whatever path you choose, you must be prepared. There are politics, responsibilities, enemies."
Raj nodded, serious.
"I know. I've been thinking about it. Maybe it's time I stop roaming and plant roots."
Father handed me a small box and pouch.
"These are yours. The bracers and shin guards hold your armor. Purple series. Defends up to Rank 3 attacks. It'll cover your entire body when activated. The accessory—this bead—will passively regenerate mana. Don't rely on it. Let it support, not sustain."
He paused, eyes sharp.
"Aim high. But not like Icarus. Understand your limits. Read myths. Study patterns. Your creativity might save your life more than strength."
We began walking back toward the dungeon gate.
By the time we stepped outside, the sun was beginning to set. We had been inside for nearly seven hours.
We passed the market, which was plastered with Aditya Group advertisements. My father's gaze swept across products, prices, and passing hunters. Whispers followed him—soft but respectful.
For decades, he had walked these streets. The air remembered.
After buying a few groceries and nodding greetings to old faces, we returned home.
Inside, Mother stood in the kitchen.
"Dinner's almost ready! Everyone to the table!"
The house erupted in noise.
Laughter. Scuffling. Plates clattering.
We gathered around the table. For the first time since my awakening, I felt like a part of something solid. Yet the silence that followed the meal revealed the elephant in the room.
Everyone was watching me.
They could sense it now—my mana, fully formed, pronounced.
The silence became unbearable.
I tried to speak. My throat caught.
Then I looked at Mother.
Her eyes held something I hadn't seen in years.
Hope.
Tears welled up.
She stood and embraced me.
"Mom... I awakened."
My voice cracked. The tears followed.
A sob escaped me, loud and unrestrained.
This moment... I had dreamt of it for years.
They held me. Let me cry. No one interrupted.
When I finally calmed down, it was almost 10:30. We shared stories. Uncle smiled—a rare occurrence. My cousins showed off their Soul Weapons.
"So, Vijay," my younger cousin said, eyes bright, "what's your weapon called?"
"Ashratal," I replied, fingers brushing the halberd's faint form beside me.
"Sounds badass," one cousin whispered.
Uncle raised an eyebrow. "Use your resources well. Don't let this be the end of your journey. It's only the first step."
Father leaned back. "Train with discipline. Don't chase fame. Build your foundation. The stronger your core, the fewer regrets you'll have later."
Mother smiled. "He'll make us proud. He already has."
By 11:30, I climbed upstairs to my room.
The stars shone above, clear and quiet.
I looked out the window and whispered, "Monkey Saint... you can come out now."
The corner of the room shimmered.
The Monkey Saint emerged.
And behind him, calmly following—
The Gun Saint.