It had been two days since Kael returned from the jungle.
And still, no one walked within ten paces of him.
Even in the training courtyards—where sweat and blood were traded like coin—his space was untouched. As if the ground he stood on bore plague.
Kael didn't mind.
He wasn't there for their comfort.
He was there to climb.
And now, everyone knew it.
Whispers in the Courtyard
"Did you hear? He tore out the panther's eye with his teeth."
"No way! He probably found it already dead. Or bribed the elders…"
"But I saw him return. The heart still beat in his hands."
They whispered like mice.
Watching him.
Fearing him.
Admiring him.
Even Jarek—the senior disciple Kael once could not beat—lowered his gaze when they crossed paths near the outer barracks. Kael didn't say a word. He simply walked past.
That silence cut deeper than any insult.
Kael's Quiet Evolution
Kael trained longer than ever.
But not harder—differently.
He listened to the rhythm of his blood. He balanced stones on trembling muscles. He slept upright, braced between two bamboo poles, to feel the tremors of the wind in his bones.
Pain didn't frighten him anymore.
It was part of him now.
Jealousy Brews
A group of disciples, older and frustrated, gathered one evening near the cliffside pavilions. Their robes bore inner-circle sigils—each one stronger than Kael by rank and legacy.
But power was shifting.
"Who trained him?" one asked.
"No one. He's a feral dog who got lucky," another spat.
"Luck doesn't leave that many scars," muttered a third, glancing at Kael's back as he passed below. "He's climbing too fast. Too loud."
"What should we do?"
"Remind him that mutts don't belong among lions."
Rising Pressure
Later that night, Kael returned to his quarters to find the straw bedding soaked—in blood.
Not his. Goat's, he guessed.
A warning.
On the walls, scrawled in ash:
"Beasts don't become warriors."
Kael stared at the words for a long time.
Then calmly, wordlessly, cleaned every drop.
He didn't report it.
He didn't shout.
But the next morning, during sparring rotation, he volunteered to face all challengers.
One by one, they came.
And one by one, they fell.
**
Kael had no sect name.
No clan backing.
No fancy techniques.
Only instinct, pain, and a promise to never crawl again.
Now, the sect watched him rise—not with applause…
But with tension.
Something was coming.
Something he was becoming.