Chapter 52
The Trial Dragon. The monks of Vritra were, for the most part, parentless orphans—or people in circumstances not much different.
The reason was simple: the path to becoming a monk was unbearably harsh. A life confined within temple walls, eating bland food, training all day long. Few would willingly choose such hardship.
Most could not endure it and eventually left. Those who remained were usually orphans who had grown up in the temple from childhood.
Vikram was one of them.
“...Endure longer than everyone else.”
The young novice monks stood in a row, holding the horse stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent deeply. Their thighs burned as if on fire—but they clenched their teeth and endured.
Their strict and fearsome master watched from behind.
“Your stances... are starting to waver.”
A long staff tapped against arms and legs, correcting any posture that faltered. The novices tensed and adjusted themselves immediately.
But the staff never touched Vikram. Unlike the others, his legs were as firm as roots embedded in the earth.
Vikram glanced sideways.
“They’re all exhausted.”
Beads of sweat dripped from the novices’ foreheads. Their legs trembled uncontrollably. Though the master had just warned them, their fatigue made their stances crumble again almost immediately.
Thud.
One boy collapsed to the floor. He was noticeably smaller than the others.
Vikram curled the corner of his mouth slightly.
“Radin… that dropout.”
Frailty defined Radin.
Every time they trained, Radin was the first to fall. Now he sat on the ground, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat like a mouse thrown into cold water.
Even if they began from the same starting line, some inevitably lagged behind. Unlike Radin, Vikram was gifted—always ahead of everyone else.
“Just a little longer.”
He waited calmly.
As expected, one by one, the others began to sink to the floor.
Soon, everyone but Vikram had fallen. Quiet satisfaction filled him.
“I can rest now.”
Thud.
Vikram finally lowered himself to the ground.
The training session was over.
Their master, who had been observing silently, stepped forward.
A middle-aged monk stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes reminiscent of a bird of prey. His gaze passed over each disciple’s face.
“You have all improved greatly, but it is still somewhat short of my expectations. A pity.”
His eyes settled on Vikram.
“Vikram… once again, you were the most outstanding today. Among those your age, you likely have no equal.”
Rare praise from their master.
Vikram suppressed a smile.
“I will strive harder, Bow.”
“You must.”
Bow’s eyes fixed on him.
“Never become satisfied.”
At the time, Vikram did not understand those words.
Ten years passed.
The young novices grew into full-fledged adults. It was time to leave the nest.
“You are now monks capable of standing on your own. When you act in the world beyond, do not stain the name of our order.”
Bow delivered his final instruction.
Thus, they became monks bearing the name of Vritra. What they chose to pursue now depended on their own will.
They could become teachers like Bow.
They could devote themselves endlessly to training and contemplation.
Or they could become practitioners who aided the suffering.
At this crossroads, Vikram chose without hesitation.
“I wish to engage in relief work.”
To spread Vritra’s teachings and help the weak in times of hardship.
And so, he stepped outside the temple.
The world he encountered—
Was filled with wonders.
Grand buildings and roads. Ornate decorations. Vikram’s eyes widened as he took it all in.
“...The Walled City, Yurgis.”
He had walked only half a day from the temple, yet never imagined such a city would exist.
What was he meant to do here?
Fortunately, the Church Alliance provided assistance. They introduced him to various tasks, allowing him to continue his relief work with ease.
Beyond the wall lay the Demon Realm.
Hunting magical beasts there was one such task.
Boom!
Vikram’s fist shattered the skull of a massive rat monster. It convulsed, spewing thick blood—then died.
Vikram pressed his palms together in prayer, offering respect for its death.
A hearty laugh approached.
“Hahaha! I feel as if a rotten tooth has finally been pulled. That beast caused us endless trouble.”
“I’m glad I could help, Albert.”
Albert the merchant.
A traveling trader who had amassed great wealth by moving between the Walled City and the Demon Realm. He was in high spirits after the troublesome rat beast was slain.
“Vikram. Would you allow me to treat you to dinner in Yurgis?”
Ordinarily, he would decline.
But this task had been far more grueling than expected. He had spent days in the Demon Realm tracking the cunning rat, barely eating properly.
His hungry stomach yearned for food.
“...It would be impolite to refuse every time.”
“I will make sure you are well treated.”
The two men returned to Yurgis.
For the first time in his life, Vikram entered a high-end restaurant. The table was soon filled with dishes emitting unfamiliar aromas.
He hesitated.
“...Am I allowed to eat such food?”
A roasted suckling pig with an apple in its mouth. Crisply fried duck. Steamed fish topped with exotic sauces.
Rare dishes, even at a glance.
Vritra’s teachings emphasized restraint. Luxurious foods were to be avoided.
As Vikram hesitated to lift his utensils, Albert asked carefully,
“Are you forbidden from eating meat?”
“No, that is not the case.”
Of course, one could not build muscle on vegetables alone. Some monks avoided meat, but martial monks often ate unseasoned chicken.
“A monk should shun extravagance and live a restrained life… so I hesitate to partake in such dishes.”
Vikram voiced his conflict.
Albert smiled faintly.
“Tasting such food is also an experience. You are young, Vikram. There is no harm in gaining such experiences while you live.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. To taste such things and then choose to endure—that is true restraint, is it not? To avoid something you have never experienced... that seems closer to fear than discipline.”
To gain greater enlightenment, one must pursue various experiences.
Vikram found it difficult to refute.
Albert gestured toward the dishes.
“Come, before it gets cold.”
“...Very well.”
Vikram took a bite of the pork.
Crunch—
The well-roasted skin cracked crisply between his teeth. A burst of rich juice followed.
The sheer intensity of the flavor shocked Vikram.
“…Food like this… exists?”
A lifetime of ascetic living had dulled his senses. Now, his taste—long numbed—was awakening. It felt as if he were learning how to eat all over again.
He was almost afraid to chew what was in his mouth.
And yet he could not turn away from the taste.
Half-dazed, Vikram devoured the dishes before him.
Indulgence.
And guilt.
They became part of him.
***
Even as a practitioner of relief work, he needed to return to the temple regularly. Vikram lived busily, traveling between the temple and the Walled City.
Seven months later—
An official notice arrived that stirred the monks into an uproar. Vikram read the posted announcement.
“The Grand Elder Orden will pass down his martial art to one young monk.”
Orden was one of the ascetics who had devoted his life to martial study. In his old age, he had attained a new enlightenment—but he was too aged to fully complete the art born from it.
Thus, he had decided to choose a successor. A young and talented monk who would inherit his martial knowledge and perfect the technique that remained incomplete.
Vikram smiled faintly.
“This… is an opportunity meant for me.”
If he inherited the Grand Elder’s martial art, he would obtain even greater power.
He did not hesitate to volunteer.
But there was a problem.
“There’s more competition than I expected.”
Opportunities like this were impossible to ignore. Several monks sought the same position.
The solution was simple.
“A sparring match.”
Eight young monks would compete for the successor’s seat.
For Vikram, this was ideal. He had always been the most gifted.
Facing his first opponent, he smirked inwardly.
“Radin… He’s forgotten his place.”
A dropout who had barely become a monk. Practically a free victory.
The moment the match began, Vikram kicked off the ground and drove his right fist forward. Radin countered with an outstretched palm.
Boom!!
With a thunderous crash, Radin was pushed far back.
His level hadn’t changed at all.
“Weaker than me. Slower than me.”
Vikram pressed relentlessly.
Radin moved frantically, like a man whose feet were on fire, barely blocking and dodging the torrent of attacks.
His technique still looked clumsy. Every movement seemed full of openings.
Vikram seized one.
“Now.”
He lunged forward—
“…Fortunately, you’re not seriously injured.”
A familiar voice.
Vikram opened his eyes.
For some reason, Bow was looking down at him.
“You’ve awakened.”
“…Master?”
“Do not try to get up. Lie still.”
“What happened to the match?”
“It’s already over.”
Over?
Vikram looked around.
He was lying in a bed.
“…Why am I here?”
“Because you lost.”
“…I lost? To whom?”
“Radin.”
The words were impossible to accept.
It must have shown on his face, because Bow continued calmly.
“You were deceived by a feint and rushed in. He struck your jaw cleanly and knocked you unconscious. Radin defeated all of you and became the Grand Elder’s direct disciple.”
A moment of carelessness.
His first defeat.
Vikram clenched his teeth.
“…I cannot accept this.”
“Why not?”
“You know it too, Master. I am far superior to Radin!”
Bow asked evenly,
“Why do you believe that?”
“I surpass him in every way—strength, speed, technique. All of it! Please give me another chance. I won’t let my guard down next time.”
Vikram pleaded desperately.
But Bow shook his head firmly.
“Even if you surpass him in all those things… Vikram, as you are now, you cannot be Radin’s equal.”
“Why?!”
“Because you lack enlightenment.”
Humans are weaker than beasts.
So they devise weapons and strategies to protect themselves.
Martial arts are no different.
They are techniques created by the weak to overcome the naturally strong.
While Vikram relied on strength and ruled like a beast, Radin meditated alone, striving to understand the essence of martial arts.
“Three months ago, Radin achieved enlightenment after persistent effort. From that moment, he grasped a martial art that surpassed yours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that enlightenment was so important?”
There was resentment in Vikram’s voice.
Bow sighed deeply.
“I told you countless times. Let me ask you instead—Vikram, why did you sit down back then?”
“…What do you mean?”
“When you were a novice, every time I trained you, I told you not to break the horse stance until you reached your limit.”
Radin endured until his clothes were soaked in sweat before collapsing. Every time, he struggled to break through his limits.
But Vikram would glance sideways, wait until the others fell—and the moment he confirmed he was the last standing, he would sit down and rest.
He still had strength left.
But he was satisfied with simply winning.
He never sought what lay beyond.
“I pointed this out many times. Sometimes gently, sometimes sternly. But you let my words pass from one ear and out the other.”
Because he was talented.
He grew arrogant.
And now the dropout he once dismissed had surpassed him.
“…What should I do now?”
Vikram asked weakly.
Bow placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Strive as Radin did. You have talent. Do not rush. Continue your training.”
“Yes… I understand.”
Vikram bowed his head.
But a dark shadow settled in his heart.
He could not accept this reversal.
“I refuse to acknowledge it.”
He would reclaim his position.
With renewed ferocity, Vikram immersed himself in training. He halted his relief work and focused entirely on cultivation and meditation.
But reality was harsh.
“…Maintaining second place is already difficult.”
Though physically gifted and quick to learn techniques, he had only seemed exceptional because the others had been slower.
Given enough time, they caught up.
During the months he had indulged in fine food and complacency, the others had advanced. They were now close behind.
At this rate, he would be overtaken again.
His anxiety deepened.
“I need another method.”
He meditated, seeking enlightenment—but nothing came.
After much deliberation, he went to the library.
It housed diaries and secret manuals left by past masters.
He would read, analyze, and search for a breakthrough.
As he examined the shelves—
One technique caught his eye.
“…Mind’s Eye?”
That discovery changed everything.