The ruins of Vedangiri burned with battle.
Screams, the clash of steel, and the heavy breathing of warriors filled the air. Dust swirled in the fading twilight, illuminated by flickering flames and the occasional glint of silver. The ground was littered with debris—broken weapons, shattered stone, and the bodies of the fallen.
The assassins were relentless, pushing them back, their attacks calculated and deadly. The students who had come here for training were now fighting for survival.
Some were strong. Others… weren't.
And the assassins knew it.
Aamir gritted his teeth, his muscles burning with exertion. His opponent, the assassin clad in dark cloth, stood before him with a stance so perfect it looked effortless. His movements were sharp, refined, lethal—the discipline of a master fighter.
No wasted steps. No unnecessary strikes.
Aamir had faced strong enemies before, but this was different. This wasn't a battle of power. This was a battle of skill.
Then—
Ding!
