Against The Eternity Chapter 50: [49] CHAPTER - 25: When Roads Begin to Split

Read chapter 50 of Against The Eternity by Phoenixfly_steller on NovelPedia.

[49] CHAPTER - 25: When Roads Begin to Split The morning sun crept slowly across the rooftops of the city, pale light sliding over tiled buildings and bustling streets like a reluctant blessing. The storm from the previous day had finally broken, leaving the air sharp, crisp, washed clean of dust and noise—the kind of morning where sound travelled farther and breaths came easier. Merchants rolled up tarps damp with night rain, the earth smelled of wet stone and bread freshly baked from nearby ovens, and the horizon glowed soft gold where the sun fought its way through thinning clouds. It was peaceful, deceptively so, like still water hiding deep beneath. Eklavya walked alone through the marketplace street, hands folded behind his back, not in leisure but with a purpose that ran silent beneath every step. His gaze traced each narrow alley, each rooftop where shadows clung like watching spirits, every face that passed him with hurried disinterest or curiosity disguised as casual glances. He moved as though the world around him was fragile glass—one wrong breath, one careless sound, and everything could shatter. The faint remnants of last evening's thunderous breakthrough still hummed in his veins, subtle as the echo of a drum long after the music ended, yet his expression remained calm, composed enough that no one would suspect anything. He wasn’t searching for goods, nor for pleasure or distraction like most who thronged the early market. He was searching for disciples of the Falling Leaf Sect—hunters who believed themselves righteous, who would gladly bind and drag him to their elders like prey caught in thorns. Their absence was unsettling. Eklavya walked half the breadth of the city—past tea stalls where steam curled like lazy serpents, past weapon shops with blades glinting in sunlight, past taverns where mercenaries argued over wagers and fresh scars—yet not a hint of their leaf-green robes appeared. No whispers of pursuit, no cautious eyes tracking him, nothing but the quiet hum of a city unaware of the approaching storm. He finally halted before the towering announcement board. Notices fluttered like autumn leaves pinned in place: missing daughters, stolen heirlooms, wanted bandits, sect announcements. And there among them still hung a poster sketched in rough charcoal. His face— or rather, the masked shadow of it. One-Star Practitioner, Wanted Dead or Alive. The letters clawed across the paper like accusations carved into bone, and though he had expected it, a subtle tension crossed his shoulders. News had spread—not just through the city, but across the empire. Such speed meant urgency and such urgency meant fear. Voices clustered beside him, men gathered around the board as though the parchment itself were treasure. “Why would a great sect go after a one-star warrior like this?” one asked, stroking his beard, tone thick with doubt. “Sect bounties are for rebels, traitors, demon-spawn, not children with swords.” Another leaned closer, eyes glittering. “I heard this boy is one of the ten most wanted by the Falling Leaf Sect. His posters are everywhere, in every city, on every wall.” Before Eklavya could even process the shock of becoming known across the Empire, a voice cut sharply through the air. A bulky man stepped forward, wearing robes white streaked with leaf-green color, jade pendant swinging against his hip as though it were proof of divine status. He stood tall so all could see him. “I am a disciple of the Falling Leaf Sect,” he declared, basking in the ripple of recognition through the crowd. “Two survivors returned the night before last. They said the boy is a demon in disguise, killing without reason. He is a monster wearing human flesh.” His words fell like black ink into water. Fear rippled through the crowd like smoke. Eklavya’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. So—they fled home bleeding that night. He imagined their trembling voices, their shame draped in the cloth of false heroism. ‘Not warriors, but