CHAPTER 142: LEGACY OF VAIBHAV

The jungle was quiet once more, a soft breeze rustling the leaves, birds chirping as if nothing unusual had happened. Aamir stood alone in the clearing, holding the black sword that had now become something more—his.

He looked at the blade, the red patterns still faintly glowing.

"Let’s test this new skill," Aamir muttered with a grin.

He pulled his arm back and, using all his strength, hurled the sword into the distance.

WHOOOSH!

Aamir watched the sword sail through the air and disappear into the undergrowth.

He took a slow breath. This isn’t just a skill check... this is proof.

Ever since the Void Foxide, things had changed. He wasn’t just training anymore. He was becoming something else — someone stronger. More dangerous.

"This sword..." he muttered, "if it really chose me, then it should listen."

His fingers curled into a fist. "Not just power. I need control. I need... trust."

The weapon flew like a missile, slicing through the air and landing far beyond the treeline with a distant thud.

"That’s far enough," Aamir said, wiping his hands.

He raised his right hand high and called out:

"Come to me!"

Nothing happened.

He frowned. "Alright then... return!" he yelled.

Still nothing.

Aamir lowered his hand and sighed in frustration.

"Seriously? That was embarrassing."

He stood there for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"Calm down, Aamir. Think."

And then it clicked.

"Wait... this sword has a name now. Maybe... maybe I need to call it by that."

He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, voice filled with confidence.

"Come forth to your master... Black Ashblade!"

His voice echoed through the forest like a thunderclap.

And suddenly—

SWING!

The blade moved.

From the distance, the Black Ashblade rose from the ground, slicing through the air on its way back. A tree stood in its path—but the blade tore straight through it like paper, not even slowing down.

The impact echoed like a cannon shot.

Leaves fluttered down like snow. A nearby group of small horned deer scattered in panic, their hooves pounding the earth as they vanished into the jungle.

The sliced tree groaned, and half its trunk fell with a loud THUMP, sending dust and insects rising.

SHWOOOM!

It landed firmly in Aamir’s outstretched hand, the hilt fitting perfectly into his palm as if it had always belonged there.

For a second, he just stood there — silent.

Aamir’s eyes sparkled. "Hah! I did it! That’s sick!"

It listened to me... it really came.

"This isn’t just a skill," he said quietly. "This is a bond."

He grinned like a kid who just got his first power-up. "Note to self: always use its name first."

Just then, a quiet voice came from behind him.

"Hm. Why are you shouting like an idiot out here?"

Aamir jumped. "Whoa—! Dude! Don’t sneak up on me like that!"

Vyuk appeared beside him like he’d walked through a shadow. He chuckled softly, carrying something wrapped in beast leather.

"You seemed happy. Thought I’d bring a gift while you were smiling."

Aamir tilted his head. "Gift? Wait, where did you go anyway?"

Vyuk handed over the package and tapped it lightly.

"This..." he said, "is the Book of Basic Pran Principles. I wrote it myself years ago—hoping one day, I’d pass it on to someone worth teaching."

Aamir blinked. "You actually wrote this? I thought you’d just hand me some old scroll or dusty manual."

"Yes." Vyuk’s voice softened. "And you’ve already learned how to sense Pran, how to channel it. But from now on, you’ll need more than instincts. Discipline. Control. Understanding."

Vyuk shrugged. "There was no one to pass it to back then. So I wrote it for someone who hadn’t come yet."

"And now you think that’s me?" Aamir asked, voice softer now.

Vyuk didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed. "You’re still rough around the edges. Reckless. But your heart’s in the right place. That matters more than talent."

Aamir looked down at the leather-bound book. For a brief moment, he remembered being a scared kid running for his life, unsure where he’d sleep next. Now... someone was entrusting him with a legacy.

"I won’t waste this," he said firmly.

Vyuk nodded. "Good. Then earn every word of it."

Aamir held the book carefully, almost reverently.

"So this is... your legacy?"

Vyuk nodded slowly. "It is. After you master the basics in this book, I’ll teach you the real techniques. The true arts. What I was taught... and what I couldn’t stop from being used the wrong way."

He paused, looking at the jungle sky.

"This book was meant for someone I could trust. And I think I found him."

Aamir looked down for a moment, then back at Vyuk. He gave a small bow, both respectful and grateful.

Vyuk took a small breath.

"You’re a good kid, Aamir... so don’t change."

His voice turned serious. "Always stay like this. Don’t ever become what he became."

For a moment, the air between them was heavy. Aamir didn’t need to ask who "he" was.

Aamir gripped the book tighter and bowed slightly. "I won’t. I promise."

"Thank you, Master."

Vyuk’s eyes widened slightly. "What did you just say?"

Aamir looked up with a smile. "You said you’d give this book to your disciple one day. That makes me your disciple now, right?"

Vyuk stared at him for a beat... then chuckled under his breath.

"Heh. Fine then. If you’re going to call me Master, then you better train like a real student. No slacking."

"Of course!" Aamir raised the book high. "I’ll master every page of this!"

Vyuk turned, waving lazily. "Good. Then get started. We’ll see how far you can go before sunset."

Aamir grinned and looked at the sword still in his hand.

"Let’s do this, Black Ashblade. This is just the beginning."

Aamir sat cross-legged beneath the tall jungle tree, flipping open the first page of the book.

Symbols glowed faintly across the parchment, responding to his energy.

"Chapter One," he read aloud. "Understanding the Breath of Pran."

He smiled to himself. "Alright... let’s see how hard this gets."

Aamir stayed under the tree, flipping page after page, his eyes scanning every line like they were ancient secrets meant only for him.

The first lesson talked about Pran breathing alignment — syncing your physical rhythm with your internal energy. But it wasn’t just breathing. The book described something deeper: the silence between breaths, the flow between thoughts.

He tried closing his eyes, following the instructions.

Inhale deeply. Focus on the heartbeat. Let the pulse guide the current of Pran. Feel it move.

But instead of peaceful focus, a memory surfaced—of the black fox’s eyes, glowing with that strange light.

Aamir’s brows furrowed.

"Corruption..." he muttered. "How can something like that even exist inside a sacred place like this?"

He opened his eyes, looked at his palm glowing faintly with blue Pran.

"Will this be enough? Will I ever be strong enough to stop whatever’s coming?"

He looked at the book again.

The next line read:

"If your heart wavers, so will your Pran. Control begins with belief."

Aamir let out a long breath.

"I won’t waver."

Just then, Spark trotted over and curled beside him, resting its soft, beastly head on Aamir’s lap.

He smiled, patting Spark gently.

"You think I’ll make a good swordsman someday?"

Spark grunted as if saying, ’Only if you don’t talk too much and train already.’

Aamir laughed. "Alright, alright."

From behind a boulder not far off, Vyuk watched silently.

Not as a teacher this time... but as a man who once lost everything.

He murmured under his breath, so soft even the wind barely heard it.

"Let this time... be different."

Aamir stood up again, still holding the book in one hand, sword in the other.

He turned to Spark, then to the tall trees, his voice steady.

"Let’s train."

Aamir looked at the book resting in his lap and ran his fingers across its cover—aged leather, weathered from time but clearly cared for.

"How long did you hold onto this, Vyuk?" he muttered. "Waiting for someone to give it to..."

He closed his eyes again, letting the sounds of the jungle melt into the background. The rustling leaves, the distant calls of beasts, the whispering wind—they all quieted as he focused inward.

For a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down. He could hear his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He followed its rhythm, syncing his breath to it like the book instructed. It wasn’t easy. His mind wandered. Flashes of battles, of the fox, of Zorwath’s stare—they all clouded his focus.

But still... he tried again.

And again.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. But eventually, something shifted.

He felt a subtle warmth in his chest. Not fiery like his battle flames, but calm—like a hidden spring flowing gently.

"Good... I’m starting to grasp it more," he said, opening his eyes and looking at his hands, which were now glowing a lighter shade of pink than before.

He smiled.

He wasn’t just fighting anymore.

He was learning.

Becoming.

Above him, in the canopy, a dark bird cawed once... and vanished.