CHAPTER 168: ENIMIES APPROACHING!

The midday sun bathed the outer district in gold as Aamir, Sheela, and Seema approached the gates of the Jovharan Market, Aryavrata’s largest hunter-run trade zone. The clamor of bartering voices, the scent of spices, oils, and sweat mixed in the air, creating a chaotic but oddly rhythmic energy.

As they reached the entrance, a stern-looking gatekeeper blocked their path with an outstretched hand. His armor bore the crest of the Market Wardens, and a spear rested in his other hand.

"Stop. Hunter badge?" he asked sharply, his eyes falling on Aamir.

Before Aamir could respond, Sam stepped forward hastily.

"He’s with me," Sam said. "He wants to become a hunter. I brought him here for registration."

The gatekeeper narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then looked at Sheela and Seema.

"And them?"

"They want to register too." Sam replied, trying to stay calm.

The gatekeeper hesitated, then grunted. "Fine. Go in."

But just as they began to step through the gate, a loud smack echoed.

SLAP!

Sam flinched, his cheek red from the force of the blow.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with jagged scars on his chin and a permanent smirk on his lips stood behind him, dressed in hunter gear—a mid-level hunter, from the look of his badge. Several thuggish figures stood behind him, chuckling.

"Well, well, Sam," the man sneered. "What did you drag in this time?"

His tone wasn’t friendly. It reeked of bullying and entitlement.

The man’s eyes wandered to the two girls behind Sam, then widened when he spotted something on Sheela’s shoulder peeking through her shawl—the faint, unmistakable tattoo of the Revolutionary Army.

He let out a slow, greedy whistle.

"Well damn. You really brought good fortune today."

He stepped closer, his hand moving towards Sheela’s hip.

"Be a good boy now, Sam. Hand them over. I promise I’ll give them ’special’ training."

But the moment his hand touched what he assumed was Sheela’s side, he paused.

Something was... off.

It didn’t feel like a girl’s waist.

Confused, he looked down—only to freeze in shock.

It wasn’t Sheela.

It was Aamir.

The man’s expression twisted in disbelief as he instinctively backed away.

Aamir adjusted his cloak, his gaze cool and emotionless.

"So... you want these girls?" he asked calmly.

The man gritted his teeth. "Who the hell are you? Why’re you interfering?!"

"No, Aamir, don’t," Sam whispered urgently. "He’s dangerous. Way stronger than me—he’s ranked."

But Aamir didn’t even glance at him.

"These two are under my protection," he said firmly. "No one touches them."

The bully laughed, but there was unease in his voice.

"So, you’re trying to play hero now?" He raised a hand. "Let’s make you a ’hero,’ then!"

More hunters—his gang—stepped in from the sides, forming a loose circle. Merchants and passersby began to back away, sensing trouble.

"Look at you," the man sneered. "You talk big, but you’re alone. What’re you gonna do?"

Aamir slowly stepped forward.

His voice was quiet.

"You’re all so weak... I won’t even need to use my power."

"My pressure will be enough."

The man spat. "Arrogant brat!"

"No," Aamir said softly. "Just confident."

And then—

The world changed.

A deep hum filled the air as Aamir’s aura awakened.

An invisible force slammed outward from him like a tidal wave. A heavy, unnatural pressure fell over the entire market. The sky itself seemed to darken, shadows lengthening across the stalls and stones.

All across the marketplace, people froze.

Some fell to their knees, gasping for air.

Others dropped their goods, clutching their chests in terror.

A few—those with weak constitutions—coughed blood and collapsed entirely.

Even the veteran guards clutched their spears for support.

And the bully?

He was flattened to the ground.

Face down in the dirt.

His limbs twitched as he tried to lift himself, but it was hopeless. The sheer gravity of Aamir’s spiritual pressure pinned him like an insect under a boot.

One of his lackeys tried to pull him up—only to be hurled back by an unseen force, crashing into a stack of crates.

Aamir stood unmoving, the wind gently fluttering his cloak, his hands behind his back.

"This market has rules," he said coldly. "But none of you follow them. So now... you’ll obey mine."

"Touching someone against their will... threatening innocents... that’s not power. That’s cowardice in a hunter’s skin."

The crowd was silent, breathless.

A child clung to her mother in the corner of a spice stall.

A beast vendor trembled behind his cages.

Even the Market Wardens looked at Aamir now not as a visitor—but as something beyond.

The bully finally lifted his head, blood streaming from his nose.

"W-what... are you?" he choked out.

Aamir knelt slightly, face inches from the man’s.

His eyes, calm but burning, met his.

"I’m your worst mistake."

Then, Aamir stood up again.

The aura vanished

—as suddenly as it had appeared.

Gasps echoed through the air as people stumbled back to their feet, the suffocating weight lifting from their shoulders.

The hunters who came with the bully backed away, visibly shaken.

No one said a word.

The man on the ground didn’t dare look Aamir in the eye again. Instead, he crawled away, humiliated.

Aamir turned to Sam, Sheela, and Seema.

"Let’s go."

No one stopped them this time.

Not the guards.

Not the hunters.

Not even the market officials.

As they walked through the main archway into the city of stalls and wonders, whispers followed them.

But none dared to speak too loudly.

Somewhere far from the battlefield...

Beyond mountains scorched by dragon fire, across rivers that once ran with holy waters now tainted black — stood Aryavrata’s Royal Palace.

Once a symbol of unity and human pride, its marble spires now lay cracked and overrun with thorned vines. Crimson banners fluttered where the gold once shimmered. The gates that once opened to kings now bowed only to monsters.

Inside the Great Throne Hall, light had long forgotten to shine. Massive stone pillars loomed like watchmen, and the stained glass windows were shattered — replaced by walls painted with dried blood and claw marks.

Upon the Obsidian Throne, formed by melted relics of ancient kings, sat the man who had broken the world.

Zorwath.

His long black hair fell behind his horned crown. One leg rested lazily over the other, his chin settled into the palm of his gauntleted hand. His cape made from the hide of a fallen sky-titan curled at the edges of the stairs.

His eyes, glowing faintly with the color of unholy twilight, suddenly narrowed.

A ripple danced in the stale air.

A distant pressure.

An echo of power.

Familiar... unforgettable.

A slow, cold smile crept across his face.

"So... you’re alive."

He raised a finger.

"Parkh."

At once, a humanoid figure cloaked in ragged voidsilk appeared before him, kneeling so deeply that his forehead touched the blood-stained floor.

His voice rasped like metal scraping stone.

"Yes, my lord."

Zorwath didn’t move.

"You felt it, didn’t you?"

"I did. The boy has awakened his core."

Zorwath’s smile widened. "The Eyes remember. His soul is aligning."

The air grew heavier.

"Trace the strand of my essence he triggered—the very essence they sealed within him. When I had the chance, I didn’t reclaim it. I left it in him for this very purpose."

"Bring him back to me — alive. And unbroken."

"As you command, Lord of All."

Without another word, Parkh vanished, melting into the floor like black smoke.

The shadows behind the throne pulsed.

Two more silhouettes stepped out — a woman wrapped in scales of obsidian serpents, and a hulking brute whose veins pulsed with lava.

Zorwath didn’t even glance their way.

"You know your orders."

"The three of you are my fingers." His voice became a growl.

"Do not fail. The Eye must not fall into chaos before I reclaim it."

The moment he finished, all three Generalsvanished like dying sparks — headed toward the aura that had disturbed the slumber of monsters.

Silence returned to the throne room.

Zorwath leaned back, gaze fixed on the shattered ceiling above.

"Come to me, Aamir."

"The world may have forgotten who I am... but you will remember."

A rumble echoed outside the palace — the roar of chained beasts, the whispers of corrupted winds, and the slow beating of a war-drum that had not stopped since the kingdom fell.

And the throne sat still.

Waiting.

Meanwhile...

The once-busy market had gone quiet.

Whispers died, footsteps slowed, and an invisible tension settled into the air like fog. Aamir walked ahead with Sheela, Sam, and Riya by his side, heading toward Vedangiri.

But suddenly—his steps halted.

His pupils narrowed.

[SYSTEM ALERT: Notice — Three enemy forces approaching rapidly.]

[Threat Level: High. Estimated Contact: 10 minutes.]

Aamir’s jaw tightened. His eyes stared into the empty space ahead.

"So... he knows I’m alive," Aamir muttered under his breath.

Sam glanced at him. "Who knows?"

"It doesn’t matter."

His voice was cold, focused.

"You three—return to my Dimensional Space. Right now."

Sheela stepped forward, confused. "What’s going on, Aamir?"

Aamir didn’t look at her. His expression had shifted—sharp, serious, unreadable.

"Just do as I say."

Something in his tone made Sheela stop questioning. She looked into his eyes for a moment... then slowly nodded.

With a flick of his wrist, a glowing sigil formed beneath their feet. In a pulse of soft light, Sam, Riya, and Sheela vanished—safely sealed inside his Dimensional Space.

Aamir exhaled.

His hands lifted, and an eerie light enveloped his arms—a black-gray aura, twisting and writhing like smoke laced with lightning. Power surged through his veins.

"No time to suppress my presence anymore."

"If I don’t reach Vedangiri first... they will."

A portal shimmered open in front of him, swirling with unstable energy.

He stepped in without hesitation—his cloak fluttering behind him like a blade drawn for battle.

The portal sealed shut behind him.

And silence returned to the marketplace.

But far in the distance, thunder rolled—not from the sky,

but from the war that had just begun.