Eklavya moved slowly toward the spot where the thousand-legged centipede had stood moments earlier. His steps were measured and restrained, each movement carrying the lingering weight of injuries that had yet to fully fade. Though healing energy flowed quietly through his channels, knitting flesh and bone back together, his body still protested every motion.

  His breathing remained steady, yet a faint tightness lingered in his chest—a reminder of how close he had come to death, how thin the line between survival and annihilation truly was. Even as his wounds closed, the memory of the battle refused to fade. Desperation, rage, madness. They clung to his thoughts like shadows etched into his mind.

  “Magha,” he spoke softly as he walked, his gaze briefly unfocusing as his awareness turned inward. “Are you healing my body?”

  From within the ring, Magha replied without hesitation, his voice composed but faintly strained.

  “Of course I am. Though it is consuming a considerable amount of primordial ki from what you gave me earlier. Regenerating damage of this level is not a trivial expense.”

  Eklavya nodded lightly, accepting the explanation without protest. His gaze drifted toward the towering river wall ahead—a perfectly unnatural vertical rise, its surface carved by time and water. Despite the erosion, it exuded an aura of silent endurance, as though it had existed long before the present era.

  Magha interrupted his thoughts with a practical remark.

  “Are you not going to take the valuables from the centipede? You will need money once you reach the city. Survival is not free.”

  Eklavya halted mid-step and turned back toward the massive, half-severed corpse resting on the riverbed. Its segmented body lay sprawled lifelessly across the stone, like a fallen monument to brute force.

  “I already took money from home,” he replied calmly. “That should be enough for now.”

  His gaze sharpened slightly as he studied the remains.

  “And what exactly do you think is left worth taking from that thing?”

  Magha released a tired sigh, as though dealing with an unteachable child.

  “Hah, you truly lack common sense. Look at its hide. Do you have any idea how valuable the hide of a high third-tier beast is? Even fragments could be sold for a fortune. The entire body is worth far more than you seem to understand. Just sell it. Take the whole thing.”

  Eklavya considered this briefly before a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

  “So… you’re telling me to store it in your storage space?”

  Magha’s irritation flared instantly. “Do not even think about it.”

  Eklavya raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with dry amusement.

  “Then what? You expect me to carry the entire corpse of a gigantic centipede to the city on my back?”

  Magha paused, reassessing, then replied more thoughtfully.

  “It is not as if placing it in your storage ring would contaminate anything. Items stored there are isolated in sealed compartments formed from condensed ki. Blood, venom, or residue will not affect your other possessions.”

  Eklavya chuckled softly and shook his head.

  “Were you truly ever a Dragon God King?” he muttered. “First, I would need enough free space in my storage ring to contain something of that size. Second, the three-coloured ring does not permit storing certain external objects—it rejects items carrying hostile residual intent.”

  For a moment, Magha fell silent. Then he let out a short laugh, half-amused, half-conceding defeat.

  “…Fine. Store it.”

  Without further delay, Eklavya approached the corpse and raised his hand, focusing his will with practised precision. A thin ray of blue light surged from his storage ring, wrapping around the centipede’s massive body like a drawn veil. Space itself seemed to fold inward as the corpse compressed, shrinking steadily until it vanished entirely, absorbed seamlessly into the ring.

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  The blue glow faded, leaving behind only the empty riverbed where the monstrous beast had once dominated the battlefield.

  Eklavya released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Then he turned his gaze toward the direction the centipede had guarded so obsessively and began walking again. His expression remained mostly neutral, yet a faint, forced smile lingered on his face—not born of joy, but of restrained satisfaction.

  There was a quiet fulfilment in finally pursuing something he had desired for years, something once barred by unseen boundaries. Even if he could not fully express it, the feeling simmered beneath his composed exterior.

  Magha observed him closely. “You look unusually pleased today.”

  Eklavya did not slow his pace. “Am I not allowed to be?”

  Before Magha could reply, Eklavya reached the exact spot the Thousand-Legged Centipede had guarded so fiercely. He lifted his gaze and noticed a small opening embedded in the river wall—narrow, uneven, shaped by time rather than force.

  Rising into the air, he hovered before the hole and peered inside.

  What he saw made his breath catch.

  Within the hollow rested an oval-shaped egg, glowing faintly with a muted brown radiance that pulsed like a heartbeat frozen in time. Drawn forward by instinct, Eklavya moved closer and gently brushed his fingers against the shell.

  Though it radiated mystical energy, there was no warmth. No pulse of life.

  The infant inside was already dead.

  It was a dead egg.

  The realisation settled heavily in his chest. The Mother Centipede had not been guarding treasure or territory—it had been protecting the remains of her child, even after all hope was gone.

  Magha’s voice echoed calmly within his mind. “The infant is dead. Still, you should take the egg and absorb the essence within it. It will grant you a significant boost in cultivation. It is exceedingly rare for a high-tier beast’s dead egg to retain spiritual resonance after death.”

  Eklavya stared at the shell, its faint glow a lingering echo of lost life. The centipede he had killed was not a guardian. It was a mother. A tight knot of guilt formed in his chest.

  Magha continued, his tone quieter now, touched with faint admiration.

  “If my assumptions are correct, she was attempting to revive her child by sacrificing her own cultivation and life-force. She may once have been a fourth or even fifth-tier beast before exhausting herself. Such devotion… the love of a mother is worthy of respect.”

  Eklavya’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I feel guilty now. Guilty for killing her.”

  Silence followed, broken only by the gentle flow of the river.

  Then Magha spoke firmly.

  “This world does not operate on fairness or sentiment. The strict rule the weak—that is the fundamental law. She failed because she was not strong enough. Do not drown yourself in regret.”

  Eklavya closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. He understood those words.

  Understanding did not erase guilt.

  Carefully, he lifted the egg with both hands, his grip unexpectedly gentle. Faint spiritual energy lingered within the shell, like an ember on the verge of fading.

  He descended to the riverbed and sat cross-legged, placing the egg before him as the current flowed quietly around his body.

  A golden barrier formed as Magha wove primordial ki into a shimmering shield, sealing off external interference while preserving the delicate flow of energy.

  Eklavya inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

  He extended his spiritual perception toward the egg, sensing the dormant essence within—energy once belonging to the centipede, now preserved in a fragile state. Because it resonated with the beast he had slain, the essence responded naturally to his ki.

  Golden patterns flickered before his vision. The Sixth Heavenly Rune began to form.

  Runic symbols carved themselves into the air, glowing with celestial brilliance as spiritual ki surged from the egg and poured through his channels like a raging river.

  His heartbeat thundered. With a powerful pulse, the Sixth Heavenly Rune stabilised.

  Yet the essence was not exhausted.

  He continued. The Seventh Heavenly Rune took shape, followed by a deeper surge of power. Still, traces remained.

  Pushing past the strain, Eklavya forced the last remnants through his cultivation cycle. The Eighth Heavenly Rune emerged. The egg cracked.

  Fine fractures spread across its surface before it dissolved into particles of light, carried away by the current.

  At that moment, Eklavya’s body reacted. He shot upward, bursting from the river as a violent wave of power exploded outward. The water roared. The air trembled. Ki surged like an unleashed storm.

  As the energy stabilised, he descended onto the riverbank, his feet sinking into damp soil.

  His presence felt heavier.

  Stronger and more dangerous.

  “Finally…” he murmured. “We are out.”

  With a slow breath, he deactivated his Supreme Body. The glowing marks faded into his flesh, leaving only faint traces behind.

  Yet the power within him remained.