The morning in Oak Village was brighter than usual. The sun spilled gold over the rooftops, and the trees whispered in the wind like they were saying their last farewell. For Shubh, this day marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. His journey to the greater world lay ahead—toward the city of Metris, where destiny waited.
But fate never lets go so easily.
As Shubh walked through the village square with a travel bag slung across his shoulder, a crowd gathered. Blocking his path stood a boy with sharp eyes, broad shoulders, and a smirk full of challenge.
William Krek.
"Running off so soon, Shubh?" William's voice carried easily. "Word is, you think you're destined for greatness. How about proving it right here?"
The villagers gasped. Shubh narrowed his eyes. He had no intention of wasting time, but William's reputation was no small matter. For three years in a row, he had been the Champion of the Underground Fighting Championship—a brutal arena where boys their age tore into each other with fists and blood.
Still, Shubh did not flinch.
The fight began without warning. William lunged, his fists striking with the speed and confidence of a seasoned fighter. Shubh didn't use any ability—only his body. His movements were clean, instinctive, born not from training halls but from the spirit of the Vavugan.
Every punch William threw, Shubh blocked. Every kick, he countered. The crowd shouted, torn between awe and disbelief. William's strikes could have toppled grown men—but against Shubh, they were nothing more than echoes.
And then, in one fluid motion, Shubh stepped forward, his fist slamming into William's chest. The impact sent the champion crashing into the dirt, gasping for breath. Silence fell.
Oak Village would never forget what they saw that day: the three-time champion lying defeated, and a boy leaving without even breaking a sweat.
Shubh didn't even look back.
The road east was long, but the sight of Metris rising in the distance set Shubh's heart alight. Towers reached for the skies, markets roared with energy, and warriors walked proudly with blades strapped to their sides. Metris was no village—it was a city of challengers, and at its heart stood a man known as the Sun of the West, its leader and strongest warrior.
And Shubh wanted nothing more than to fight him.
But tradition came first. In this world, no fighter could simply walk into the ranks. To be recognized, he needed an identity card, a mark of his place in the hierarchy. Without it, he was no more than a nameless wanderer.
Before starting the process, Shubh found himself seated at a small eatery by the roadside. A steaming bowl of rice and soup sat before him. The warmth of the broth carried a familiar taste of home, though his path now led far from Oak.
It was here, among the chatter of strangers, that whispers followed him. A group of men at the next table spoke his name in hushed tones.
"Did you hear?" one muttered. "That boy… he's not from any ordinary clan."
"No," another replied, voice tight. "He's Vayaungan Shubh. The Vavugan Clan—one of the top three legendary clans of the world."
The words spread like fire, filling the room with murmurs. Shubh, his face calm beneath the hood, lifted a spoonful of rice.
The journey had only begun, but already the world was learning his name.
And in the city of Metris, where the Sun of the West awaited, his legend was about to ignite.