The ancient void still surrounded Siddharth when Kaushik spoke again.
"There exists a cultivation art," the old ancestor said slowly, "that has long vanished from this world. Even the great sects of Bharat have forgotten its name."
Siddharth listened without blinking.
"It is called the Beast Transformation Art."
At the sound of those words, the necklace on Siddharth's chest grew warm.
"This art strengthens both the physical body and prana," Kaushik continued. "It does not rely solely on meditation or meridian expansion. Instead, it refines the essence of beasts into one's own existence."
"Beasts…?" Siddharth asked cautiously.
"Monsters," Kaushik corrected. "Creatures born from heaven and earth, each possessing innate abilities."
Kaushik raised a finger. "The Beast Transformation Art is divided into eight parts—one for each major cultivation realm. From Shishya to Brahmarishi."
Siddharth's breath quickened.
"The first part," Kaushik said, "is something you can practice now."
He waved his hand, and lines of ancient script appeared in the air, burning themselves into Siddharth's mind.
"By consuming monster blood and refining it with prana, you can absorb fragments of the beast's abilities into your own body."
"Abilities?" Siddharth whispered.
"Yes," Kaushik replied. "However, listen carefully. You may only gain one ability per cultivation level. The first blood you refine after entering a level determines the power you receive."
Siddharth's heart sank and rose at the same time.
"Choose poorly," Kaushik warned, his voice turning stern, "and you will regret it for that entire realm. Choose wisely, and you may gain power far beyond your peers."
The void slowly faded.
Siddharth woke up the next morning drenched in sweat.
Sunlight streamed through the narrow window of his dorm room. His body still ached from Garvit's beating, but his eyes burned with determination.
"Beast Transformation Art…" he murmured.
Skipping breakfast, he went straight to the Ayodhya Gurukul library.
The library was vast, filled with shelves carved from sacred sandalwood. After searching for nearly an hour, Siddharth finally found what he was looking for.
Monster Encyclopaedia – Lower Realms Edition.
He flipped through page after page.
Fire wolves. Stone boars. Thunder lizards.
Each monster had strengths—but also drawbacks.
And then his eyes stopped.
Illusory Owl
Rank: Shishya
Abilities: Enhanced perception, mental disturbance, illusion-based sight.
Siddharth's heart began to race.
"Eyes that affect the mind…" he whispered.
Mental attacks were notoriously difficult. Even Rishi-rank cultivators specialised in them. If he could gain even a fragment of such an ability now…
He closed the book slowly.
"I'll choose this."
Reality, however, struck quickly.
Siddharth was poor.
Painfully poor.
His parents' death benefits had long been spent on tuition and survival. After counting his coins again and again, he realised the truth.
He could only afford the blood of a Shishya-rank monster.
That was fine.
It had to be enough.
That afternoon, Siddharth went to the Ayodhya market district.
The scent of incense, herbs, and monster blood filled the air. He walked from stall to stall, bargaining desperately, until at last he stood before a small vial sealed with runic wax.
"Illusory Owl blood," the merchant said. "Pure. Fresh."
Siddharth hesitated before handing over his pouch.
Coins clinked softly.
Almost everything he had—gone.
He clenched the vial tightly.
After attending his daily classes and enduring Garvit's mocking stares in silence, Siddharth returned to his room as evening fell.
He locked the door.
Placed the vial in front of him.
And sat down cross-legged.
"Kaushik," he whispered.
The necklace glowed faintly.
Begin.
Siddharth unsealed the vial and drank the blood in one gulp.
The taste was foul, bitter and burning.
The moment the blood entered his body, fire exploded through his veins.
"Agh—!"
Pain tore through every muscle, every bone, every meridian. His vision warped as if the world itself had shattered into fragments.
He forced himself to circulate his prana according to the ancient patterns burned into his mind.
The blood resisted.
It fought him.
His bones felt like they were being crushed. His eyes burned as if molten metal had been poured into them.
His scream never left his throat.
The pain grew unbearable.
And then—
Darkness claimed him.
Siddharth collapsed onto the floor, unconscious, his body trembling as ancient power began its transformation.