The mountain had no name.
Names implied ownership.
And nothing owned this place.
Jagged peaks rose like broken weapons, their slopes stained with old blood and ash. The air was thin, sharp enough to cut breath. Even seasoned warriors would struggle here.
Rudra climbed without complaint.
Seven years old.
No escort.
No protection.
Only Parashuram walking ahead, axe slung casually over one shoulder as if the mountain itself were a minor inconvenience.
"You are weak," Parashuram said suddenly, without turning.
"Yes," Rudra replied.
Parashuram stopped.
Turned.
Studied the boy with narrowed eyes.
"You did not deny it," he said.
"There is no merit in lying to reality," Rudra answered.
Parashuram grinned.
"Good. Weakness acknowledged is weakness temporary."
They reached a plateau carved with ancient scars—marks of battles long forgotten by the world.
"This is where kings come to die," Parashuram said. "And where warriors are born."
He raised his hand.
Rudra's body locked.
Every ounce of strength vanished.
—
[Dharma–Karma Chronicle: External Suppression Detected]
[Divine Intervention: Authorized]
[All Boons: Sealed]
—
Rudra fell to his knees, breath leaving him in a gasp.
"What—" he began.
Parashuram struck him across the face.
Not with force.
With intent.
"Your power," Parashuram said coldly, "is irrelevant here."
Rudra tasted blood.
He did not glare.
Did not shout.
He listened.
"You will train without boons," Parashuram continued. "Without authority. Without mercy."
The system remained silent.
Observing.
"Survive," Parashuram said. "Or crawl back as a prince."
Rudra stood.
Shaking.
Bleeding.
"I will not crawl," he said.
Parashuram's smile vanished.
Good.
The first lesson began immediately.
No technique.
No explanation.
Parashuram attacked.
Barehanded.
Rudra was thrown.
Crushed.
Driven into stone.
Bones cracked.
Lungs burned.
Every instinct screamed to call upon power.
Nothing answered.
—
[Condition: Mortal Training]
[Growth Rate: Accelerated Through Trauma]
—
Days blurred into pain.
Rudra hunted with his hands.
Drank melted snow.
Slept on stone.
If he collapsed, Parashuram kicked him awake.
If he hesitated, Parashuram struck harder.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Rudra stopped screaming.
He stopped thinking about survival.
He focused on improvement.
A grip tighter.
A stance lower.
A breath steadier.
One night, bleeding beside a dying fire, Rudra finally spoke.
"Why?" he asked.
Parashuram stared into the flames.
"Because power without discipline breeds tyrants," he said. "And you were born with too much."
Rudra nodded.
Understood.
The system logged the realization.
—
[Dharma Insight Gained]
[Concept: Power Exists to Serve Judgment]
—
Years passed.
Rudra grew taller.
Lean.
Hard.
By age ten, he could survive a week in the mountains alone.
By twelve, he could block Parashuram's strikes—once.
By fourteen, he stopped falling immediately.
Parashuram laughed often then.
Bloodied.
Bruised.
Satisfied.
One evening, Parashuram finally allowed the seal to loosen.
—
[Boons Partially Unsealed]
[Condition Met: Physical & Mental Foundation Stable]
—
Power returned.
Not overwhelming.
Controlled.
Rudra felt the difference immediately.
This time, the strength obeyed him.
Parashuram nodded.
"Now," the immortal warrior said, eyes gleaming, "we begin *real* training."
Thunder rolled across the mountain range.
Rudra stood tall.
The prince had been stripped.
The warrior had survived.
And what returned would not be fragile.
-- chapter 6 ended --