skill ( chapter 4)

The one who was standing infront of rudra was a third-class disciple , his gray robes rippling in the morning breeze. Rudra had watched him train countless times from afar while sweeping the courtyard, his movements always fluid like water flowing downstream. Now, facing him directly, Rudra kept his blade hidden beneath his worn servant's robes, his posture carefully submissive from years of practice.

"Honored disciple," Rudra bowed deeply, his voice carefully placed with honour "This humble one seeks guidance in martial arts matters."

The young disciple paused, regarding him with mild curiosity. Even this slight attention made Rudra's skin crawl with anticipation and fear. "What knowledge does a merey servant seek he glared at rudra and smudged and then he continued , I am in good mood today ?"

"This one has observed your morning practices while cleaning," Rudra continued, taking a small step forward. His senses caught every subtle movement of the disciple's the steady rhythm of his breathing. "Your forms are like poetry in motion. Perhaps... perhaps you could demonstrate "

The disciple turned slightly toward the training grounds, a fatal mistake rudra thought that in his mind but it was a big mistake , "The basic stance begins with—"

Rudra struck. The hidden blade flashed out in a desperate arc toward the disciple's exposed back. But even caught off-guard, years of training proved their worth. The disciple twisted away with impossible speed, the blade cutting only air where his neck had been moments before.

"Treacherous dog!" The disciple's face contorted with rage as he spun to face Rudra. His stance shifted seamlessly into a defensive position that spoke of countless hours of practice. "You dare attack a disciple of Mount Hua?"

The disciple's first real strike shattered Rudra's expectations of combat. It wasn't like the elegant forms he'd watched from afar - it was brutal, efficient, and blindingly fast. The punch caught Rudra's jaw with a crack that He felt each individual tooth rattle, tasted copper as his cheek split against them.

"Thought you could kill me, you bastered ?" Another blow, this time to his ribs. Rudra heard them crack before he felt the pain. "Let me show you the difference between us."

A kick swept Rudra's legs out, sending him crashing face-first onto the stone courtyard he felt each tiny rock cutting into his skin, smelled his own blood mixing with the morning dew.

The disciple grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up only to drive a knee into his stomach. Rudra vomited bile and blood

"This is what real combat feels like," the disciple lectured, methodically breaking down Rudra's body. A strike to the kidney had him screaming. An elbow to the collarbone left his left arm useless. "Not those dreams you had while sweeping our floors."

Rudra crawled away, his vision blurring. The blade he'd dropped seemed miles away. The disciple followed, his footsteps unhurried.

"I'm going to leave you alive," the disciple said, his voice cold. "As a reminder to other servants who forget their place."

Through the haze of pain, Rudra stumbled toward the grass fields, making his movements even more pathetic than they already were. "Please..." he whimpered, falling to his knees. "Mercy..."

The disciple followed him into the grass, contempt radiating from every movement. "Begging already? Typical servant."

Rudra collapsed completely, curling into a ball. His hand secretly gathered a fistful of dirt . The disciple stood over him, probably planning where to land his next blow.

"At least face your punishment with some dignity—"

Rudra spun, throwing the dirt directly at the disciple's face. But this time, he didn't aim for the eyes. He threw it at the disciple's open mouth as he was speaking

The young man choked, instinctively inhaling in surprise. Dirt went down his throat, triggering a violent coughing fit. His perfect stance broke as he doubled over, trying to clear his airways.

Rudra saw his chance. His body moved on instinct, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His blade cut through the air, aiming for flesh—but before it could land, a sharp kick slammed into his stomach.

The force sent him flying backward, his body hitting the grass with a heavy thud. Pain flared through his ribs as he gasped for air, his fingers digging into the dirt.

"Dammit…" he muttered, wiping his mouth. "All that effort… and I barely scratched him." He let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling. "No wonder they call him a martial artist."

But even as the ache settled in his bones, his widened his eyes . He saw a another apportunity

Rudra didn't hesitate for a second He tackle-charged forward, using his full weight to drive them both down. They fell hard, and Rudra heard the disciple's head crack against a hidden rock in the grass. The young man's movements became uncoordinated, his eyes unfocused

Rudra moved his hand over the third-class disciple's head injury, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

"What the fuck are you doing… and what's with that look on your face?" the disciple spat, his frustration evident.

He let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Are you actually worried about my injury? Just a few minutes ago, you were trying to cut me down with a blade, and now you're making that face? What the fuck is your deal? Don't think I'll spare you just because you look guilty."

Despite being pinned beneath Rudra, the disciple was still a martial artist—one with far more battle experience. Suddenly, without warning, a powerful kick struck Rudra's stomach.

The impact sent him flying across the grass field. He crashed onto the ground, his body aching from the blow.

Panting, he muttered to himself, Even after all that, he still had the strength to pull off an attack…

The third-class disciple, though struggling to stand, forced himself onto his shaky legs. Even though his body swayed and his breath was ragged, he pushed forward, refusing to fall.

But just as he closed the distance, his knees buckled, and he collapsed.

"What did yo… u… huff huff… do to me?" he gasped, his breaths heavy, his body trembling.

Rudra slowly pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to stand, silently watching his opponent struggle.

"You… you! What did you do to me?!" the disciple roared, his voice cracking. He coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips.

His expression twisted in horror as realization dawned on him.

His voice was hoarse now, desperate. "What the fuck did you feed me?!"

Rudra's expression remained calm, eerily so. In a slow, measured tone, he spoke.

"Do you know about the Green Sun?"

A flicker of confusion crossed the disciple's face before something clicked in his mind.

"The Green Sun… You mean that poisonous plant that started appearing randomly just a month ago?"

Rudra stood motionless, his gaze distant.

"In my past life, this plant started appearing around this time… Eventually, it became one of the most valuable materials for refining elixirs. But that process won't be discovered until five years from now…"

The disciple's breathing grew more labored. His body trembled violently as he tried to force out another question.

"Whe...n did you feed me…?"

Rudra tilted his head slightly. "Are you asking when I fed it to you?" His voice was cold, emotionless. "I didn't feed it to you directly. But I did feed it to you."

"How?!" The disciple's face was turning paler by the second. He clenched his fists, as if trying to fight back the poison with sheer willpower. Rudra could see the thoughts racing in his mind—was he stalling for time? Planning something? Or was it just pure desperation?

The disciple coughed again, his body swaying. "It wasn't in the dust you threw at me… And it wasn't on your blade. The cut you gave me wasn't deep enough for poison to spread this fast… Then how? Huff… huff… Tell me…!"

Rudra's gaze darkened. His cold eyes stared down at the dying man—were they truly directed at the disciple, or at himself?

Then, in a voice void of warmth, he said, "When I was checking your injury… did you really think I was concerned for your well-being?" He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, his lips curled into a faint smirk.

"I dropped a few drops of the poison onto your wound."

Silence.

Then, a look of pure terror spread across the disciple's face.

Rudra continued, his voice deathly calm. "And I don't need to explain how fast a poison spreads when it's placed near the brain, do I?"

The disciple opened his mouth, as if to say something—but no words came out. His body convulsed, his strength fading rapidly.

Rudra didn't hesitate.

Gripping his fallen blade, he drove it straight through the disciple's throat. The steel scraped against bone. Blood gushed over his hands, hot and thick. The disciple's eyes widened in shock, trying to comprehend how a mere servant had defeated him. His hands clutched at the blade, but his movements were weak, uncoordinated. Blood bubbled from his lips as he tried to speak.

"The difference between us?" Rudra whispered, watching the life fade from his victim's eyes. "You fought for your ego and I fought for my life ."

Rudra released him, his hands trembling as he stared down at the lifeless body before him. The boy's eyes were wide open, frozen in a look of disbelief. Rudra's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He had just killed someone. A boy. Someone who had done nothing to deserve this.

"I… I had no choice," Rudra whispered, his voice shaking. "I had to survive. I had to…"

But the words felt hollow. No matter how he justified it, the weight of what he had done pressed down on him like a mountain. He had taken a life. A young, innocent life. And for what? To save his own? Was he any better than the heavenly demon who had treated human life as a bug ?

Rudra collapsed beside him, his own body screaming in pain. His three broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, internal bleeding, countless bruises and cuts. But he was alive.

A familiar ting sounded above the ringing in his ears.

[Quest complete]

[Reward: skill]

[Do you like to open the skill box? y/n]

Rudra stared at the floating text, unable to focus on it

"Was survival worth this?" he wondered, his gaze fixed on the crimson stains that seemed to seep into his very soul. Was it survival that drove him, or something darker? Something more primal, more selfish? The line between the two blurred in his mind, leaving him adrift in a sea of doubt.

"Does morality matter when your life is on the line?" he whispered to the stillness around him, his voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Or is it just a luxury for those who have the privilege of safety?"

A part of him longed for the simplicity of his old life, when his choices weren't even his in his new life , He thought of the system, the cruel, unyielding force that had thrust him into this task of killing It demanded strength, demanded sacrifice. But did it demand his humanity as well? Was that the price of survival—to become something less than human, something capable of killing without remorse?

He clenched his fists, the blood on his hands drying into a dark, cracked veneer. "I had to survive," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "I had no choice." But even as he spoke the words, he felt the lie in them. There had been a choice. He had made it. And now, he had to live with the consequences.

he had crossed a line from which there was no return. And as he rose to his feet, the blood on his hands shining bright red

With trembling fingers, he reached out and pressed 'y'.

[Skill: shape ]

"Shape ?" Rudra muttered, still trembling from the fight. "What kind of pretentious name is that?"

He opened the skill description, expecting something mundane after such a grandiose title. As he read, his trembling stopped. His eyes widened. The blood drained from his face.

"This... this skill..." The words caught in his throat. "What the fuck... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

The wind rustled through the blood-stained grass as Rudra stood frozen, staring at the text before him.