Chapter 9: The Smace’s Legacy

The battle was over, but the echoes of it still pulsed through Rishi’s body. His muscles ached, his breath was ragged, and his heart still pounded from the rush of power.

The Smace felt heavier in his hands now—not just in weight, but in meaning. The energy that had coursed through him, transforming him into something more, had faded, leaving behind only questions.

Who were those assassins? How did they know his name?

And most importantly—what had he become?

Kaviraj’s Disappearance

Rishi turned to check on Kaviraj—but he was gone.

His chest tightened. The alley was eerily silent now, the last remnants of battle fading into the night. There was no sign of struggle, no trace of where Kaviraj might have gone.

“Kavi?” Rishi called, his voice hoarse. No response.

He checked the ground—no footprints leading away. It was as if Kaviraj had vanished into thin air.

A cold realization settled in. This wasn’t an abduction. Kaviraj had left on his own.

But why?

His fists clenched. He had too many questions and no time to find the answers. The assassins had known his name. If they knew that, they could track him.

He couldn’t go back to the orphanage. It was no longer safe.

A Hidden Sanctuary

Rishi ran. His instincts, sharpened by years of survival, carried him beyond the familiar alleys, deeper into the ruins of the Old City—abandoned temples, forgotten streets, places no one dared to enter.

One such place called to him.

A cavern, hidden beneath the remains of a collapsed temple. The moment he stepped inside, the Smace pulsed in his grip, as if recognizing something.

The air inside was thick with ancient whispers. Strange symbols covered the stone walls, glowing faintly in the dim light. Rishi traced his fingers over them, feeling a warmth beneath his touch.

“You have returned.”

The voice was not his own.

He spun around, raising the Smace defensively. But there was no one there.

Then the walls themselves began to shift, rearranging like living stone. A hidden doorway emerged from the shadows. Beyond it, a staircase spiraled downward into darkness.

Rishi swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed at him to leave.

But the Smace wanted him to go forward.

So he did.

The First Trial

The deeper Rishi went, the more the whispers grew louder. Not just sounds—words. Memories.

"The Smace was not forged, but born."

"It chooses its wielder."

"Its power is bound by the strength of its master’s soul."

The whispers wrapped around him like an unseen force, pushing him forward. At the bottom of the stairway, a vast chamber opened before him.

And at its center—an old man, seated on a stone throne, watching him with piercing golden eyes.

“You are late,” the man said.

Rishi froze. Who…?

The man stood, his movements slow but powerful. His long white beard flowed like a river of silk, and his robes shimmered with a faint celestial glow. His hands, old yet steady, gripped a Smace of his own—one unlike Rishi’s. This one was black as the void, pulsing with silver veins of light.

“Do you know what you carry, child?” the old man asked, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

Rishi tightened his grip on his weapon. “A weapon.”

The man smiled. “Wrong. It is a legacy.”

Without warning, he attacked.

The Smace’s Test

Rishi barely had time to react before the old man was upon him, moving with impossible speed. Their Smaces clashed, sending a shockwave through the chamber. Rishi’s arms trembled from the force of the impact.

“Your power means nothing if you do not understand it,” the man said, striking again.

Rishi blocked, barely. Sparks flew as red and silver energy collided.

“You are not the first to wield the Smace,” the old man continued, pushing Rishi back. “And you will not be the last. But if you do not learn control, you will be the shortest-lived.”

Rishi gritted his teeth, frustration burning inside him. He had fought assassins. He had killed. He had awakened the power inside him. And now—he was being treated like a child?

He attacked, swinging with all his might.

But the old man simply sidestepped, effortlessly dodging every move.

“You fight like a beast. Instinct, rage, survival.”

A blow struck Rishi’s chest. He gasped, stumbling back.

“But to master the Smace… you must fight like a warrior.”

The next strike sent Rishi crashing to the ground. The Smace slipped from his grasp, rolling across the floor.

Rishi coughed, pain flaring through his ribs.

The old man loomed over him, golden eyes glowing.

“Stand up.”

Rishi clenched his fists. Every muscle screamed in protest.

But he stood.

The old man smiled.

“Good. Now, let us begin.”

Kaviraj’s Note

Hours later, after exhaustion had finally taken its toll, Rishi returned to his resting chamber. He was drenched in sweat, his limbs felt like lead, and his mind swirled with everything the old man had told him.

But the moment he stepped inside, something was different.

A note sat on the stone table.

His blood ran cold. No one else should have been able to reach this place.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded the paper.

"Find your strength. We don’t have much time. - K"

Kaviraj.

He was alive.

And he knew something.

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