NOVEL NEXT Chapter 33 – The Smoulder Vein Art
There was a strange stillness to mornings in Steel City.
Not the silence of sleep or emptiness, but a quiet bred from tension beneath the surface—like a forge right before the bellows blew. The air always seemed to shimmer faintly with heat and ambition. Somewhere, hammers had already begun their rhythmic beat. Somewhere else, deals were being struck, secrets traded, blades tested.
And inside one of the many chambers of the Copper Circle, a single sharp clap echoed like a spark falling into kindling.
Moments later, the door opened.
A servant girl stepped inside, her steps brisk but measured. She carried a lacquered tray with practiced grace, and resting upon it was a rectangular card—gold in colour, its edges chased with fine metalwork. At its centre gleamed the spiral insignia of the Copper Circle, etched deep enough to catch the light.
The girl bowed, presenting the tray before Aaryan.
"A recognition token," Elder Nema said smoothly. "It marks you as a significant customer of the Copper Circle. Doors open a little faster when you carry one of these."
Aaryan didn't move to take it. His gaze lingered on the card only a second before he looked up.
Instead, he spoke calmly, "Before that… I need a Qi technique. Fire-type, offensive. Do you have any?"
The air stilled for a heartbeat.
Elder Nema tilted his head. "We do," he said slowly. "But that depends on what level you're looking for. Low-grade, high-grade, single-target, area-based? Something specific?"
Aaryan gave a small shrug. "I'll take anything. I don't know any Qi techniques yet."
Another silence.
Nema blinked once. "You don't know any Qi techniques?"
"No."
The silence that followed was almost comical.
Shravan's thoughts spun back to the plaza outside the Ember Spire. To that brief exchange—Viyom, furious, unleashing his ice Qi in full force. And this boy—this stranger with calm eyes—had met the attack head-on. With nothing but wrapped Qi and a bare fist.
He hadn't imagined it.
He leaned back slightly, a small bead of sweat trailing down his neck. Just what kind of monster was this?
Elder Nema was quiet for a few moments, fingers tapping once against the armrest.
He paused, then smiled slightly. "I usually don't involve myself in low-scale exchanges, much less technique browsing."
With a casual wave of his hand, a compartment in the wall behind him slid open. Ten jade slips floated out, gliding through the air before settling in a neat row across the table.
Each glimmered faintly with different energies, some hot and wild, others simmering quietly.
"These are all fire-aligned offensive techniques," Elder Nema said, his tone almost indulgent. "Varying styles. A few emphasize speed, others raw power. One or two are older forms—refined over generations, but harder to master. I don't know your style—but you'll find something." He paused, then added with a flick of his eyes toward Aaryan, "They were meant to be part of the next auction."
Shravan raised a brow, mildly impressed.
"But," the elder continued, "I'll let you take first pick—just one. Consider it a courtesy... or maybe an investment." His lips curled into a faint smile. "Choose wisely. Once it's selected, the rest return to the vault."
Shravan leaned over slightly, murmuring, "Pick carefully. These aren't street scrolls. You won't find them again without paying five times the price."
Aaryan didn't answer. His gaze moved from one jade slip to the next, patient, calm, measuring. He didn't rush. He'd never used a Qi technique before. But this wasn't about firsts. It was about picking the one that would leave a scar.
And beside him, both men watched in quiet fascination. Wondering—not for the first time—who exactly this youth with sharp blue eyes truly was.
Aaryan sat forward, reaching for the first slip. As his fingers brushed its smooth surface, a flicker of Qi leaked into him—a preview of the technique sealed within.
Crimson Arc Slash.
A mid-tier Azure grade technique focused on high-speed, scything flame attacks. It shaped fire Qi into a curved blade of heat that followed the user's sword or limb. Deadly in wide spaces, especially with momentum. Aaryan nodded slightly, but moved on. Too flashy for his current style.
The second slip pulsed hotter.
Burning Talon Grasp.
A more vicious one. Fire surged into the user's hands and fingers, mimicking the claws of a beast. Upon contact, it could scorch through spirit shields or even partially melt unrefined ores. Brutal and direct. Aaryan felt a twinge of interest, but he lacked the reckless aggression it demanded.
He set the slip aside and moved to the next one.
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Nothing unusual about it. Its glow was dimmer. The title was simple.
Smoulder Vein Art.
He frowned slightly, then sent a strand of soul sense inside.
The technique unravelled before his mind's eye—not with grandiose bursts of flame or dramatic explosions—but with a steady, controlled burning. It didn't fling fire outward. It turned the user into a furnace.
The art channelled Qi into the meridians directly, cycling it through the limbs—arms, legs, spine, core. With each circulation, the internal temperature of the body rose, but rather than injure, it fortified. The user's limbs would carry residual heat, transferring it on impact. Each punch or kick would land with searing force, leaving behind burning pain even if blocked. The technique also had a side effect—the more it was used, the faster the user moved, as heat accelerated the Qi flow through the body like molten blood through iron pipes.
There was nothing explosive about it.
But it was clean. Controlled. Focused.
A slow-burn style that built up until it erupted through motion.
Aaryan's hand lingered over the slip longer than the others.
Not a flame to hurl—but a furnace to carry. Built for someone who never cooled.
This one, he said quietly.
Elder Nema raised an eyebrow. "You've never used a Qi technique. You could take one of the stronger ones—leave an impression. Flash and fear still go a long way in this city."
Aaryan's expression didn't change. "I'm not here to impress."
The elder's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Then he looked down at the slip in Aaryan's hand.
"That one's not easy," he said, voice smooth. "Hard to master. It channels heat into the body directly—wrong circulation and you could boil your own blood."
He tapped the table once, the sound soft but sharp. "And it's only Azure-tier, mid-grade. Some of the others are more refined. Costlier, yes—but simpler to use. Safer."
Shravan leaned forward. "Brother Vidyut, he's not wrong. There's no rush. Take another look, at least."
But Aaryan's answer came without hesitation. "I don't need to."
Both of them paused.
Aaryan's eyes stayed fixed on the jade slip in his hand. "This one suits me. More options won't make a better fit. I'd rather choose something I understand than chase something that dazzles."
He didn't say it aloud, but deep down, he knew—Smoulder Vein Art matched his way of fighting. Not explosive, not spectacular. Just sharp, close, and burning. A weapon hidden inside the flesh.
Shravan gave a soft chuckle and leaned back. "Well. Can't argue with certainty."
Elder Nema studied the boy a moment longer, then nodded. With a smooth wave of his fingers, the other slips rose from the table and drifted back into the hidden compartment. The wall slid shut with a soft click.
"Done, then," he said. "A fair trade."
He glanced toward the tray held by the silent servant girl at the side. On it, the golden Copper Circle trade card still lay untouched.
"The technique is priced at twenty thousand spirit stones," Nema added casually.
Aaryan gave a short nod.
The elder waved his hand. A thin pulse of Qi shimmered through the air. The card glowed briefly as the transaction completed—twenty thousand spirit stones deducted in a blink. The girl bowed and stepped back.
Aaryan reached out, picked up the card, and slid it into his robe. Then he clasped his hands and gave a respectful bow toward Elder Nema.
"Thank you."
The elder returned it with a polite nod, his smile lingering. "Good luck. You'll need it with that art."
Aaryan turned and stepped out, Shravan following behind. As the thick doors of the private room closed behind them, the outer world of the Copper Circle returned—wide halls, polished floors, quiet power in every footstep.
Outside, beneath the arching entrance of blackstone, Aaryan stopped.
Without a word, he reached into his robe and drew out the golden card.
He handed it to Shravan.
Shravan raised an eyebrow, weighing it briefly. His expression shifted. "Fifteen thousand?"
Aaryan nodded. "Your help. Paid."
Shravan smiled faintly. "You really won't let it go."
Aaryan didn't blink. "I wouldn't."
There was a brief silence. Then, with a laugh and a clasp on Aaryan's shoulder, Shravan stepped back.
"Well then, brother Vidyut. I hope we meet again."
Aaryan gave a nod, turned, and began walking.
He'd expected the clans to be all fangs and arrogance. But Shravan Megh had earned the coin. And the nod.
Still. It was good to owe no one.
But now only five thousand spirit stones left.
His heart ached slightly at the thought.
But in his sleeve, he now carried a card from the Copper Circle and a technique that burned like it had been made for him.
Not a bad trade.
Not at all.
🔱 — ✵ — 🔱
The sun had shifted past its peak when Aaryan finally returned to his room at the inn. Afternoon light filtered through the narrow window, casting golden streaks across the wooden floor. It was quiet—save for the distant clatter of bowls and muffled voices from the lower level.
Aaryan sat cross-legged on the floor, back straight, the jade slip of Smoulder Vein Art resting lightly in his palm.
There was still no sign of the old drunk.
A single glance around the room confirmed it. No trail of ashes, no muttering from under the bed. Just silence.
"…He better not have vanished after having me buy so much stuff," Aaryan muttered. A small part of him wondered if Uncle Soot had just taken the food, the alcohol, and slipped away before dawn like a gremlin in human skin.
He shook his head with a sigh and pressed a thread of soul sense into the jade slip.
The technique unfolded in his mind—like molten patterns etched into a scroll. He had read it once already inside the Copper Circle, but now he took his time, combing through every detail.
Smoulder Vein Art. It wasn't flashy. No exploding swords, no flaming dragons. Just a method of channelling fire Qi through one's meridians—especially into the limbs. The heated energy would cause internal warmth, building pressure, reinforcing every strike with a residual burn. The more refined the control, the deeper the penetration of heat—and the more damage each blow would cause.
But the warnings were clear.
Overuse may cause scalding of meridians, minor internal burns, dizziness, or blood boiling.
Users below average physical strength are advised to avoid continuous circulation for long periods.
Aaryan smiled faintly. "Lucky for me, I'm not exactly average."
He placed the jade slip aside and closed his eyes.
The silver Qi within his dantian stirred. It moved smoothly now, more obedient than ever since his recent breakthroughs. With a steady breath, he guided it outward—coaxing the silver Qi to shift, align, and take on the rhythm described in the technique.
As the first loop of circulation completed, a strange sensation spread down his right arm.
He gritted his teeth.
It wasn't just warmth. It was heat. Controlled, but sharp—like placing a hand near smouldering coals. His skin tingled.
A patch along his forearm flushed red. Another appeared on his thigh. The Qi burned deeper, his meridians flaring slightly in protest. But Aaryan's expression didn't waver.
This wasn't unexpected.
His body—tempered through beatings, near-death fights, and the forging pressure of Dominion Tyrant Physique—held firm. Even as the internal temperature climbed, his limbs didn't cramp. His breathing stayed smooth. Not a single hiss escaped his lips.
He drew in another breath, refining the loop. A second cycle. Then a third.
By the fourth, the burning sensation had spread through his limbs evenly. The ache deepened—then steadied. And a raw power simmered beneath his skin.
A smile tugged at his lips.
Hard to master?
Maybe for others.
But for him… this felt just right.