The soft glow of dawn barely pierced the narrow window slit of Room 17. Harish awoke to the hard reality of his futon, his dreams of spicy butter chicken and fluffy garlic naan dissolving into the chill, stone-walled room. He instinctively reached for his stomach. It rumbled, a deep, mournful sound, already protesting the stark inadequacy of yesterday's meals.
A familiar, silent notification shimmered at the edge of his vision, visible only to him:
[Daily Attribute Double has activated! All physical and mental attributes have been reset to their doubled effective values for the new day.]
Harish felt a subtle surge of energy, his limbs feeling even lighter, his mind clearer, the lingering weariness of the previous day vanishing. It was an effortless, unconscious process, yet it reminded him of the extraordinary nature of his existence. He glanced over at Cheon Woo Jin's futon. It was neatly made, a pristine display of discipline, but Cheon Woo Jin himself was nowhere to be seen. The single scroll from last night lay precisely at the center of his small desk. Does he even sleep? Or does he just materialize out of thin air every morning, perfectly poised and ready for whatever Murim-y things Murim people do? And how does he eat so little? Harish mused, a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the morning cold. The thought of his endless hunger and the bland Murim food was already a burden.
He quickly dressed in the Academy's plain, functional robes, performing a series of stretches that felt woefully insufficient for his growing energy reserves. Breakfast in the refectory was a repeat performance of yesterday's culinary torture: more bland chicken type monster meat stew, more tasteless buns, all consumed in a blur of desperate hunger while other disciples meticulously chewed, seemingly deriving sustenance and satisfaction from the meager portions. Harish found himself fantasizing about a piping hot samosa with tangy chutney, the very thought a torment in the realm of bland porridge.
His first class of the day was Inner Energy Cultivation and Harmony, held in a serene, circular chamber with polished wooden floors and walls adorned with calligraphic scrolls depicting flowing energy pathways. The air was thick with the scent of calming incense, and the atmosphere hummed with quiet focus. Students sat in rows, cross-legged, preparing for meditation. Harish found a spot, trying to mimic their composed posture, though his stomach audibly complained, forcing him to shift uncomfortably.
The door creaked open, and in sauntered a figure who shattered the room's tranquility like a hammer striking fine porcelain. This was no stoic elder. This was Monk Gae-Tae.
He was a monk, technically, clad in saffron robes, but they were rumpled and stained, as if he'd slept in a hedge. His bald head bore faint, ancient scarification patterns, but his face was a tapestry of wild, untamed expressions, dominated by wide, glittering eyes and a surprisingly long, unkempt beard that seemed to have a life of its own. He moved with an odd, shambling gait, yet there was an undeniable, almost terrifying agility beneath the surface. He wasn't walking; he was somehow bouncing, his robes flapping around him.
"A-HEM!" Monk Gae-Tae boomed, his voice a gravelly rumble that echoed through the supposedly serene chamber, making several students jump. "Today, we learn… the truth of nothing! Or something! Bah, forget the scrolls! They lie! All lies!"
He kicked a small meditation cushion, sending it skidding across the floor, then plopped down cross-legged in the center of the room, facing no one in particular. His eyes darted around, finally landing on Harish, who was trying very hard to appear invisible behind his chubby frame.
"You! Boy with the… flourishing aura!" Monk Gae-Tae pointed a gnarled finger, singling Harish out. "Your energy sings a peculiar song. A song of… too much! Yes! Too much power, too little… emptiness!"
Harish's Primal Insight flared, a confusing kaleidoscope of possibilities. This monk wasn't just crazy; he was perceiving something fundamental about Harish's inner energy that no one else had. The Monk's words resonated with the endless hunger that tormented Harish, the constant need for more fuel for his ever-expanding core.
"Emptiness is key!" the monk declared, suddenly leaping up and performing a series of absurd, flailing movements that looked more like a chicken having a seizure than any known martial art. "To truly hold, one must first be empty! Like a bowl! A very… very hungry bowl!" He winked at Harish.
The other students exchanged bewildered glances, some stifling giggles, others looking genuinely concerned for the monk's sanity. Harish, however, felt a strange connection. He understood the "hungry bowl" part all too well.
Monk Gae-Tae then produced a small, perfectly round river stone from his sleeve. "Look at this! Solid, unyielding! But what if… what if it was not?!" He then, with a completely straight face, proceeded to lick the stone with exaggerated fervor. "Taste! Taste the essence of solidity! Is it empty?" He frowned, licking it again. "No! Still stone! Bah!" He then flicked the stone towards a pillar at the edge of the room. Instead of harmlessly bouncing off, the stone passed through the solid pillar as if it were smoke, disappearing with a faint whoosh.
A collective gasp swept through the room. Harish's eyes widened. That wasn't an illusion. That was a localized phasing technique, far more advanced than even his own Unbound Stride. Monk Gae-Tae, despite his antics, was a terrifying master.
"See?" the monk chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "Nothing! Everything! Only what you perceive! What you choose to be! You, boy! With the hungry eyes! What do you perceive?!" He pointed at Harish again.
Harish stammered, caught off guard. "Uh… well, I perceive that… I'm still hungry? And, um… that orthodox and unorthodox martial arts… they're not really different in themselves. It's just martial arts. The nature of whether an art is 'orthodox' or 'unorthodox' depends on the person using it, and the way they use it." Harish found himself articulating a thought that had crystallized from his Primal Insight, how his own System could twist familiar concepts into unique, devastating applications. "A 'righteous' technique used with ill intent, or a 'demonic' technique used for good… the art itself is just a tool. It's the user and their intent that define its true nature."
Monk Gae-Tae's wild eyes, usually darting with chaotic energy, stilled for a fraction of a second, fixing on Harish with an unnerving intensity. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, revealing surprisingly white teeth. Ah, the child with the flourishing aura sees beyond the veil! Most here are content to categorize, to label, to constrain the boundless flow of Ki within rigid definitions. But he… he sees the fluidity, the ultimate neutrality of power itself. A rare insight for one so young, and so… outwardly ordinary. His earlier antics were tests, riddles designed to jar the mind from conventional thinking. Harish, unknowingly, had passed with flying colors. "YES! Good! Excellent!" the monk boomed, his voice filled with genuine, albeit eccentric, approval. "The fundamental truth of existence! Form is emptiness! Emptiness is form! And a hungry belly can teach you more about intent than a thousand scrolls! Fill it! But how? With more emptiness! Ah ha ha ha!"
He then proceeded to sit cross-legged again, but this time, he began to spin slowly in a circle, muttering ancient chants in a melodic, yet still slightly off-key, voice. The sounds were guttural, rhythmic, an unfamiliar language yet somehow resonating deeply within Harish's consciousness.
Then, something strange happened. As Monk Gae-Tae chanted, a pattern emerged, a sequence of sounds that struck Harish with an odd familiarity. His mind, supercharged by the System and his Primal Insight, seemed to predict the next syllable, the next resonance. Before he even fully registered it, a soft, almost involuntary murmur escaped his lips, joining the monk's chant, not just echoing, but completing a phrase, correcting a slightly mispronounced ancient tone. The words flowed effortlessly, a deep, resonant hum that filled the chamber.
Monk Gae-Tae's chanting suddenly faltered, his spinning slowing to a complete halt. His wild eyes, now wide with undisguised astonishment, fixed on Harish. "Boy! What… what was that?! How do you know these ancient sounds?! These are the mantras passed down, they say, from the very first Bodhidharma who brought the path to this land of ours! We chant them, yes, but their true pronunciation… their full meaning… it has been lost through ages of transmission!"
Harish, realizing what he had just done, felt a blush creep up his neck. His stomach still rumbled, but his mind was alight with a strange excitement. "Oh, um… I recognize them," he stammered, then, gaining confidence as his innate knowledge resurfaced, he continued, "They sound like mantras from Sanathana Dharma culture, from the Hindu temples back in India. We hear them a lot there. The sounds you're making, they're derived from Sanskrit." He took a breath, recalling the vibrant, complex nuances of his native culture. "The core of that chant, the part about 'form is emptiness,' it reflects a deep truth in Sanskrit about the nature of reality. It's about how everything we perceive, all forms, are ultimately transient and interconnected, part of a greater, undivided consciousness. It's like... understanding that the river is just water, no matter what shape the riverbed takes. Or that the clay is the same, whether it's shaped into a pot or a statue. It's about unity beyond diversity, about finding the universal truth within the ephemeral."
Monk Gae-Tae's Point of View
Monk Gae-Tae stared at Harish, his jaw slack, his carefully cultivated madness momentarily forgotten. Sanskrit. The root meaning… unity beyond diversity… from the land of sages… He had chanted these sounds for decades, passed down from dusty scrolls, believing they were simply keys to unlocking inner energy. He had known fragments of their philosophy, but Harish, this chubby, eternally hungry boy from a land beyond the Murim, had just articulated their true, profound essence, connecting them to something ancient and vast. Bodhidharma… he came from the land of sages. It all makes sense! These aren't just sounds, they are keys to a deeper truth, a truth that this boy carries within him, effortlessly! My 'emptiness' teaching, his 'Primal Insight'… they are two sides of the same coin! A profound, unshakeable curiosity bloomed in the monk's heart, eclipsing all else. He wasn't just a powerful anomaly; he was a living link to the fundamental origins of their very path. "Boy," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "you… you are a marvel. A true treasure."
Lysander's Point of View
Lysander's eyes narrowed, his mind reeling. Sanskrit? Hindu temples? What ridiculous foreign babble is this? Harish's pronouncements about martial arts neutrality were bad enough, but now he was claiming obscure foreign knowledge, rattling off words in a language no one understood. The chant, yes, it was ancient, but to claim he 'predicted' it, or understood its 'true meaning' from some far-off land? It was utterly preposterous. Is he trying to mock us? To show off? This boy is an arrogant fraud! His 'talent' must be some kind of elaborate trick. This is simply too much. Lysander gripped his knees tighter, his face a mask of barely contained fury and intense skepticism. This 'Harish' was becoming less of an enigma and more of a threat to the established order, both culturally and martially.
Borin's Point of View
Borin watched Harish, a sense of awe slowly dawning in his practical mind. The boy understands the fundamental principles not just of Ki, but of existence itself. Like the foundational elements of a forging process, he sees the raw materials beyond the finished product. The idea that ancient Murim chants, passed down through generations, had a deeper, foreign origin, yet still resonated with core truths, was a testament to the universality of certain principles. It was like discovering that the perfect hammer design, though unique to this region, shared a common mathematical truth with a hammer from a distant land. "Unity beyond diversity," Harish had said. Indeed. The same force, shaped differently. This boy… his mind is a revelation. He doesn't just learn; he comprehends at a level beyond rote memorization or mere practice. Borin, ever the craftsman, recognized genuine mastery when he saw it, even in philosophical discourse.
Seraphina's Point of View
Seraphina's amethyst eyes were alight with an intense, almost feverish fascination. Sanskrit. The ancient language of truth. The very wellspring of wisdom that predates much of our Murim history. Her family's esoteric texts hinted at such origins, speaking of travelers from the land of sages who brought foundational knowledge. Harish, without conscious effort, was accessing and articulating truths lost to generations. His Primal Insight wasn't just for combat; it was a bridge to ancient knowledge, a direct conduit to the very fabric of reality and spirituality. "Unity beyond diversity," he explained. Precisely. The Nexus. The fundamental interconnectedness. His words, so simple, yet so profound, resonated perfectly with the deepest secrets of her lineage. The Blight. The Nexus. Harish. She felt a surge of hope, a new path forward illuminated by the unexpected brilliance of this unassuming boy. He was not just valuable; he was indispensable. Her gaze on him was now a mixture of profound intrigue and carefully masked urgency.
Harish, having dropped his philosophical bombshell, felt a strange lightness. The monk, however, was now practically vibrating with excitement, having ceased his chanting entirely. He looked at Harish as if he were a freshly discovered ancient artifact.
[Willpower +1! Insight into [Ancient Linguistics] gained! Skill level 1!]
This old monk… he's crazy, but he's saying things that actually make sense, in a totally bizarre way, Harish thought. He glanced at the other students, most of whom looked either bored or completely lost. Only a few, like Seraphina, were watching the monk and Harish with intense, calculating gazes, trying to decipher his madness. Lysander looked frustrated, probably expecting a clear technique instead of philosophical riddles.
The rest of the class devolved into Monk Gae-Tae shouting questions at Harish about India, asking about other "truths" hidden in his "flourishing aura," and occasionally demanding a student tell him the "color of true emptiness" (to which Harish almost blurted out "chicken biryani-colored" before remembering his earlier mistake). By the end, Harish's head felt both enlightened and thoroughly confused. His stomach, however, was still a bottomless pit.
As the class dismissed, Harish made a mental note. He needed to find out more about Monk Gae-Tae. Not just for wisdom, but perhaps, just perhaps, the monk knew where to find something genuinely delicious in this bland, disciplined Academy. His journey in the Heavenly Demon Cult had just found a new, utterly unpredictable, and potentially very hungry, mentor, who now saw him as a living portal to ancient, lost knowledge.
What bizarre lesson or culinary adventure awaits Harish next with the unpredictable Monk Gae-Tae, and how will his newly revealed insights shape his path within the Murim?