《Tempest In The Land Of Seven Estuaries》 001 - The Man Marked By the Devil Every desire demands sacrifice. And the most sinister desires often lead to pacts with the devil. Such is the fate of Adanu Raksa. At the tender age of six, he was sacrificed to the Carrion Flower Devil. Though he survived the ritual, the devil¡¯s grip on him never waned. Sleep always eluded him, for every night, demons and malevolent spirits came hunting for his soul. And tonight is no different. ¡°Come forth, you vile creatures!¡± Despite his shabby cloak, his features hold an elegance fit for nobles¡ªsmooth, lightly tanned skin that glows under the pale moonlight. The hilly wind tousles his unkempt, ear-length hair, making his worn cloak billow behind him. The same cloak he sleeps under now flutters like a tattered banner. The sun has long since set. A horde of forest demons and undead creep toward his small hut at the southern base of Mount Saringgih. The dense woods are bathed in eerie moonlight, casting shifting shadows over their twisted forms. Adanu tightens his grip on his sword. He isn¡¯t afraid. But¡ª ¡°Damn it. If I fight here again, that old man will throw another fit.¡± Ki Bayanaka, the elderly sage who lives nearby, has made it clear that he despises the foul stench of demon carcasses rotting near his hermitage. As if on cue, a voice cuts through the night. ¡°Did I not tell you to lure them away from my dwelling?!¡± Adanu groans. ¡°Shit.¡± With a swift motion, he wipes his blade clean on a nearby bush, then wraps it in a tattered cloth. Dodging the demons¡¯ attacks with practiced ease, he secures the sword at his waist and takes off running. ¡°Apologies, Gramps! I¡¯m handling it!¡± Bounding northward, he leads the creatures away from the hermitage and his own hut. He moves swiftly, pausing only for brief moments to catch his breath. Four hills, five valleys¡ªa journey that would take an ordinary traveler an entire day passes beneath his feet before dawn threatens the horizon. Then, in the distance, a village emerges from the mist. Adanu slows, a frown tugging at his lips. If the demons follow him there, it will be a massacre. With a sigh, he turns to face his pursuers. ¡°Can¡¯t let you lot get any closer.¡± The white, translucent spirits among them waver, whispering in the wind. Without hesitation, Adanu unwraps the cloth from his black sword and secures it tightly around his left arm. The spirits shriek and lunge. He slashes through them effortlessly, their agonized cries echoing through the trees. ¡°Tch. Your screams are worse than a crow¡¯s at dawn,¡± he mutters, rubbing his ears. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Then¡ª A chill spreads down his spine. One of the spirits slips past his guard. An icy hand presses against the back of his head, draining the warmth from his body. A voice, ancient and insidious, slithers into his mind. << Stop resisting, branded child. Are you not tired of running? Embrace your fate. Let us take you to the Carrion Flower Devil. We shall release you from your suffering. >> For a moment, his vision blurs. His breath hitches. Then, a grin splits his face¡ªa twisted, maddened grin. ¡°Do I look tired to you?¡± With a vicious swing, his sword carves through the spirit, silencing its whisper. ¡°I left my weakness behind a long time ago.¡± His voice is steady, but his eyes gleam with something far more dangerous. He turns to the remaining demons, and taunts. ¡°Come. Taste the sweetness of my blade.¡± Though the night has drained hours from him, fatigue never touches him. His strikes remain swift and precise, slicing through the remaining creatures with ruthless efficiency. Even his tattered robe remains unstained, untouched by the blood and filth of his slain foes. This is his life. His every night. And it will not be his last. *** As dawn stretches across the sky, the surviving demons slink back into the shadows, vanishing into the depths of the forest. Adanu sheaths his sword, exhaling. ¡°Damn¡­ I went too far again, didn¡¯t I?¡± He eyes the distant village. Returning home will be a hassle. He might as well grab some food before making the long trip back. At the village¡¯s edge, a stone marker stands, etched with ancient Sanskrit carvings. Squinting, Adanu mutters the words under his breath. ¡°Ku¡­ lon¡­ se¡­ wu?¡± ¡°Yes, this is Kulonsewu Village,¡± a voice answers from behind. Turning, he finds three young villagers eyeing him curiously. One of them yawns, rubbing his eyes. ¡°It was a long night. Is there a food stall nearby?¡± Adanu asks. ¡°Over there.¡± One of the boys points. ¡°They have the best coffee in the northern part of Marajaya Kingdom.¡± ¡°Perfect.¡± Adanu sighs. ¡°A hot cup of coffee is just what I need.¡± The village is draped in morning mist. Thatched huts cling to the damp hillside, and in the distance, a rooster crows. Inside the humble tavern, the old man behind the counter greets him with a nod. ¡°It¡¯s quite early, sir. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have food ready yet.¡± ¡°A cup of coffee will do,¡± Adanu says, rubbing his shoulders against the morning chill. The rich aroma of fresh coffee soon fills the air. As the first sip warms him, he sighs in satisfaction. Then, three men step inside, thick-bearded and rough-looking, machetes strapped to their waists. Their eyes lock onto Adanu, sharp with suspicion. A foreigner. Alone. One of them steps forward. ¡°What brings you to this village?¡± Adanu doesn¡¯t even look up. He takes a slow sip, exhales, and sets the cup down. ¡°Just here for the coffee.¡± The thug¡¯s lips curl, but his eyes remain cold. He tilts his head slightly, letting the dim morning light catch the edge of his machete. ¡°Then finish it quickly and leave.¡± Tension thickens the air. Adanu smiles. Without a word, he downs the rest of his coffee. Then, shifting his tattered robe aside, he reaches something on his waist. The thugs stiffen, hands hovering over their weapons. But instead of a blade, Adanu pulls out a gleaming gold coin¡ªthe official currency of the Marajaya Kingdom. With an easy flick of his fingers, he tosses it to the tavern owner. The old man catches it, eyes widening. ¡°Sir, this is too much! I don¡¯t have enough change¡ª¡± ¡°Keep it.¡± Adanu pats the old man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Good coffee deserves the price.¡± Without another word, he turns and leaves. Behind him, the thugs exchange glances. They don¡¯t need to speak to understand each other. Greed gleams in their eyes. *** Later¡­ As Adanu walks into the misty forest, six men emerge from the underbrush, surrounding him. Machetes and swords gleam in the dim morning light. Adanu sighs. ¡°Following me this far? That¡¯s dedication.¡± One of them grins. ¡°Wealth or life?¡± Adanu chuckles, tilting his head. ¡°Aren¡¯t you at least curious how a vagabond like me got this many coins?¡± The thugs lunge. But Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t even take them seriously. He sidesteps effortlessly, weaving through their attacks like a drifting leaf. A swift kick to the leg sends one man sprawling, while another is disarmed with a casual flick of his wrist. And soon, five flee in terror. The last one finds himself staring at his own machete¡ªnow pressed against his own throat. ¡°Wealth or life?¡± Adanu asks with a smile. The thug stammers. ¡°I-I have nothing!¡± Adanu hums. ¡°Tough luck.¡± He throws the blade back at him and flips a gold coin into the air. ¡°Consider it a reward for your persistence.¡± With that, Adanu climbs up a tree, stretches, and nestles into the branches for a good nap. But below, the thug glares at him, fists clenching. His eyes flick down to the coin¡ªand greed, like a festering wound, blooms in his heart. *** An Hour Passes¡­ Adanu remains deep in sleep. The forest is still. Only the occasional rustle of leaves stirs the morning mist. But soon¡ª Srrsh! Footsteps creep through the underbrush. The thugs return¡ªnow twenty strong¡ªled by a grizzled man standing casually behind them. A hushed whisper slithers through the air. ¡°Cut down the tree. When he falls¡ªtake his head.¡± Silence emerges. Then¡ª Srrraak! The tree groans as it collapses, crashing to the earth in a storm of leaves and dust. Adanu tumbles with it, landing in a heap on the ground. For a moment, he lies there¡ªbarely stirring. His black Damascus sword dangles loosely from his grip, his eyes half-lidded with drowsy confusion. The thugs cheer, convinced he¡¯s injured. ¡°Kill him!¡± ¡°Now!¡± With a roar, they charge, eager to claim their prize. But disturbing Adanu Raksa¡¯s sleep is the worst possible mistake. He hasn¡¯t slept all night. And that is very bad. When awake, he can restrain himself. He can suppress the instincts honed by years of slaughtering demons. But in this half-asleep state¡­ it¡¯s a different story. Once the first thug steps into Adanu¡¯s attack range, the air suddenly shifts¡ªthickens. Then¡ª Swssh! A head flies. Blood arcs through the air, painting the dirt red. 002 - An Eerie Quiet Night Adanu Raksa sways, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. His breath is slow, measured. His black Damascus sword hangs low, its tip grazing the damp earth. The rainforest hums around him, alive with the whisper of rustling leaves and the distant call of a mourning bird. The air, thick with moisture, clings to his skin. The remaining thugs do not move. A suffocating silence grips the clearing, heavier than the mist itself. Then¡ª A single misstep. A breath too loud. Two men break from their fear, arrogance clouding their judgment. With a battle cry, they rush forward, blades flashing¡ª Unaware they have already sealed their fate. Swssh, swssh! Two more heads fly in the air. The remaining thugs freeze. On the other hand, Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t even seem fully aware of what he¡¯s doing. His blade moves by instinct alone. His head then tilts slightly, as if waking from a dream. And just like that¡ªthe bloodlust disappears. His eyebrows furrow. ¡°Shit. How did I get down here?¡± He looks around, still swaying, barely processing the scene until his eyes land on the fallen tree. ¡°Wait¡­ Did you cut down my tree?¡± His voice carries no anger, no malice¡ªjust drowsy confusion. But the surviving thugs are too terrified to move. Adanu Raksa rubs his eyes. His exhaustion weighs heavier than any blade. He needs sleep¡ªnot just from fatigue, but because nightfall will come again. And with it, the demons. ¡°Damn it! Can¡¯t you let me sleep just for a while?¡± His words piqued the thugs¡¯ curiosity, noticing his exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, Adanu Raska turns on his heel and decides to run away, abandoning the fight. Somehow, the thug leader¡¯s fear fades. ¡°Split into three groups and follow him!¡± Whether out of naivety or overwhelming greed, they give chase, believing Adanu Raksa is fleeing in fear. ¡°Look for a chance to ambush that man!¡± And so, after a long night of battle, Adanu Raksa finds himself on the run once again, reluctant to waste energy on these people. At first, he thinks he can outrun them. But exhaustion clings to his body like chains. Every step drains him further. After running for a while, he starts catching up to his own limits. A deep scowl forms on his face as realization settles in. ¡°Seems like there¡¯s really no other choice.¡± He stops running and turns around, his gaze sharp with irritation. The thugs slow their steps, moving cautiously until they form a circle around him. The leader steps forward, a smirk curling his lips. ¡°Why not just hand over those gold coins?¡± Adanu Raksa snorts. ¡°Why should I?¡± His voice drips with sarcasm. ¡°Did you think you¡¯ve already cornered me? You really believe I led you here without a reason?¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The thug leader narrows his eyes. ¡°And what exactly is your reason?¡± Adanu Raksa smirks. ¡°Because here, I can kill you all without disturbing the people of Kulonsewu Village.¡± A few of the thugs exchange uneasy glances. The memory of their fallen comrades still lingers, making them hesitant. But their leader¡ªa warrior wielding twin poignards¡ªremains calm, stepping closer. ¡°You¡¯re no ordinary vagabond,¡± he observes. ¡°Who are you? Which school do you belong to?¡± Adanu Raksa raises an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s the point of asking that now? Oh, wait¡ªyou¡¯re one of those honor-obsessed warriors, aren¡¯t you?¡± The man grins. ¡°Rada Nayaka. The most famous warrior of the north coast. These twin poignards are my signature weapons.¡± He then taps the hilts of his blades. ¡°Judging by what you just did, your name¡ªand your head¡ªare worth quite a lot to me.¡± Adanu Raksa chuckles dryly. ¡°So, you¡¯re just looking for a way to boost your reputation, huh?¡± He sighs and shrugs. ¡°Too bad for you, I¡¯m just a vagabond named Tole from the south of Mount Saringgih. Never had a master, never been anyone¡¯s disciple.¡± Rada Nayaka¡¯s expression falters. His excitement dims. A nameless vagabond? No reputation. No glory. No reason to have a fair duel. For a moment, he seems disappointed¡ªuntil his gaze drifts back to the gold coins. His expression hardens. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± he calls out to his men. ¡°He¡¯s injured from the fall earlier. I bet he¡¯s completely drained.¡± Adanu Raksa lets out a tired laugh. ¡°You know what? You¡¯re right.¡± He sighs, rolling his shoulders. ¡°I am dead tired¡­ and that¡¯s exactly why I won¡¯t hold back anymore.¡± The next second, madness unleashed. The thugs rush in, raising their weapons. Adanu Raksa¡¯s expression twists into something unhinged. His entire presence shifts¡ªhis exhaustion forcing him to the edge of sanity. His sword swings without restraint¡ªharsh, brutal, merciless. The smooth precision from before is gone, replaced by raw, unfiltered violence. CLANG! A thug¡¯s machete shatters. And then¡­ Crssh! A face is cut, followed by wild scream. The blood-drenched ground soaks into their sandals. Five men fall within three swings of Adanu Raksa¡¯s blade. One thug remains standing¡ªeven though his head has already been severed. ¡°Demon spawn!¡± ¡°Where the hell did this man come from?!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid! He is clearly exhausted!¡± Rada Nayaka pushes the headless body forward, using it as a shield while aiming a sneaky attack from behind it. Adanu Raksa chuckles amusedly. ¡°That¡¯s child''s play on a battlefield.¡± His grip tightens on his hilt. Soon, the air ripples around his sword. A faint white plasma-like energy swirls around the black Damascus blade as he lifts it high. And then¡ª Slssh! The headless body is cut clean in half. Rada Nayaka, who was hiding behind it, stumbles backward, face pale. ¡°Shiiit.¡± He raises his twin poignards, crossing them to block. But¡­ Snap! The blades break. A shallow cut appears on his chest. His mind races. Adanu Raksa¡¯s blade shouldn¡¯t have reached him. Yet, he was still cut. ¡°How?¡± he mutters. Adanu Raksa grins, exhaustion barely masked behind his amusement. ¡°Wanna find out?¡± Rada Nayaka¡¯s breath hitches. Then¡ªhe remembers something. Adanu Raksa mentioned South of Mount Saringgih earlier. Which means, there¡¯s only one possibility. ¡°Are you¡­¡± Rada¡¯s lips tremble. A cold shudder runs through him. ¡°Are you¡­ one of Ki Bayanaka¡¯s disciples?¡± Adanu Raksa raises an eyebrow. The thug¡¯s terrified reaction tells him everything. Soon, a stupid thing suddenly crosses his mind, and a joyful smirk occurs adorning his innocent face. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m one of his disciples. Junior to the Great Tarendra Trisatya.¡± His tone is playful, but the two names he mentioned send terror down Rada Nayaka¡¯s spine. Immediately, Rada Nayaka bows. Not once. Several times. ¡°Mercy! Please, forgive us! I want no trouble with the great hermit of Mount Saringgih¡ªnor with the King of Marajaya!¡± The other thugs stare in confusion, until their leader snaps at them. ¡°Bow, you idiots!¡± Rada Nayaka hisses. The thugs immediately follow his lead, prostrating themselves in submission. With a sigh, Adanu Raksa simply waves his hand lazily. And so, they scramble away, vanishing into the trees. The moment they¡¯re gone, Adanu Raksa exhales. ¡°Damn. I should¡¯ve used that old man¡¯s name sooner.¡± His smirk lingers, but exhaustion creeps into his expression. ¡°Well, he¡¯s gonna be pissed when he finds out I used his name again.¡± Adanu Raksa isn¡¯t lying out of fear¡ªhe simply doesn¡¯t want to waste time and energy to fight the entire gang, because once night falls, he¡¯ll be on the run again. He ascends the hill, weaving through the trees until he finds a small river. With a tired sigh, he kneels by the water¡¯s edge, washing the blood from his shabby robe. ¡°It¡¯ll be a problem if I don¡¯t sleep before dark.¡± Finish with that, he spreads the robe across a rock to dry, then glances at the sky. The sun is already tilting west. Knowing he¡¯ll have to stay awake all night, he lets himself rest right there beside the river. *** Meanwhile, rumors of a disciple of Ki Bayanaka begin spreading. But Adanu Raksa sleeps through it all until the night comes. After years living as an exile, weirdly, no demons come to him tonight. No undead. No evil spirits. He sleeps too deeply. At least, until something shakes him awake before dawn. His body jerks upright. His breath is ragged. ¡°Shit, what was that?¡± His heart pounds, though he doesn¡¯t know why. He can still feel the weight of a nightmare pressing against his chest¡ªbut he can¡¯t remember it. The forest is silent. Too silent. His gaze flicks toward the sky. A pale crescent moon hangs behind thick clouds. He throws his robe back on, a sudden unease creeping over him. ¡°¡­Weird. Where¡¯d those ugly demons go?¡± He glances around, frowning. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me they finally lost interest. That¡¯d hurt my feelings.¡± The air feels wrong. It¡¯s calm. Too calm. He grips his black Damascus sword tightly, hugging it close as he leans against a tree. ¡°It¡¯s too damn quiet¡­¡± For years he has spent every night running from demons. This is the first time he has rested without being hunted. And it unsettles him more than any monster ever has. 003 - Flood in the Season of Droughts When dawn finally breaks, Adanu Raksa shakes off his unease and heads back to Kulonsewu Village. Hunger gnaws at his stomach, and he figures he¡¯ll return to the food stall for something to eat. But as he walks, an old man steps into his path. ¡°Are you really one of Ki Bayanaka¡¯s disciples?¡± Adanu Raksa sighs, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°No, I¡¯m just a simple vagabond.¡± The old man¡¯s eyes twinkle knowingly. ¡°No need to be so humble. I know you¡¯re the one who made the thugs leave our village. I¡¯m the Chief of Kulonsewu. Would you mind coming to my home?¡± Right at that moment¡ª GRUMBLE. Adanu Raksa¡¯s stomach betrays him. The Village Chief chuckles. Adanu Raksa sighs, rubbing his neck. ¡°¡­Alright, old man. Lead the way.¡± *** The Village Chief¡¯s home is modest but sturdy, sitting at the heart of Kulonsewu. He serves Adanu Raksa a meal on the terrace but doesn¡¯t join him. Instead, he sits nearby, watching quietly. But the moment Adanu Raksa finishes¡ª THUD. The Chief bows deeply. ¡°Please, I need your help.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s brows lift in surprise. ¡°If you truly are a disciple of the Great Ki Bayanaka, then you should be able to save this village.¡± Adanu Raksa pauses, feeling guilty if he doesn¡¯t at least listen after being fed. ¡°¡­Alright. What¡¯s the problem?¡± The Chief¡¯s face grows grim. ¡°Our village is in great trouble. We haven¡¯t had rain for weeks, and¡ª¡± Adanu Raksa groans, shaking his head. ¡°No, no, hold on, old man. I¡¯m not a shaman. Don¡¯t expect me to summon rain for your paddy fields.¡± The Chief raises his hands quickly. ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I¡¯m asking! Please, listen first.¡± Adanu Raksa exhales, leaning back. ¡°¡­Alright, I¡¯m listening.¡± The Chief nods solemnly and begins his tale. ¡°A few weeks ago, a shaman came to our village.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s fingers drum lightly on the table. ¡°He was always shirtless,¡± the old man¡¯s eyes darken, ¡°carrying a long wooden staff, he claimed he could summon the rain.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change, but he can already tell where this story is going. ¡°At first, it worked.¡± The Chief continues. ¡°It rained a few times after he arrived. So when he asked for a virgin, we thought he simply wanted a wife to settle here.¡± Adanu Raksa clicks his tongue. ¡°And someone agreed?¡± ¡°A girl offered herself. He wasn¡¯t picky.¡± The Chief¡¯s voice tightens. ¡°But soon after, both of them disappeared.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s grip tightens slightly. ¡°And then?¡± The Chief swallows. ¡°Our fields were dry again. The shaman returned. He said he could help¡ªbut this time, he asked for another girl.¡± A cold chill runs through the air. ¡°That¡¯s when we realized something was wrong. So we refused,¡± the Chief continues. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Adanu Raksa sighs heavily, shaking his head. ¡°You already know, don¡¯t you?¡± The Chief nods, guilt lining his face. Adanu Raksa closes his eyes briefly. ¡°¡­He wasn¡¯t looking for a wife.¡± The old man¡¯s hands shake slightly. ¡°We denied him. But a week later, three village girls vanished in the night.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s gaze snaps to him. The Chief¡¯s voice lowers. ¡°Then we started searching while also doing patrol in the night. That¡¯s when we found out something sinister.¡± ¡°Sinister like what?¡± ¡°The possessions.¡± ¡°What the?¡± ¡°Each night, a girl was possessed by demon, and forced her way out of the house. Since then, we¡¯ve always tied the girls down before sleep, to prevent them leaving the house in the middle of the night.¡± Adanu Raksa scratches his head, unsure of what to do. He isn¡¯t a disciple of Ki Bayanaka to begin with. All he knows is how to use his sword. ¡°Have you tried hunting that shaman?¡± he asks. The Village Chief shakes his head, then disappears into his house. Moments later, he returns, holding a poster. ¡°We¡¯re just peasants,¡± he says, handing it over. ¡°All we could do was put a bounty on his head.¡± Adanu Raksa glances at the drawing. ¡°He looks too young for a shaman. Who sketched this?¡± ¡°He is too young to be a shaman,¡± the Chief agrees. ¡°The village thugs tried to hunt him. But a few of their men died horribly in the jungle, and they abandoned us. So we¡¯re back to where we started¡ªno answers, no solution.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s face twists slightly. Shit. It was his doing that made those thugs leave the village. If he hadn¡¯t killed some of them, they¡¯d still be searching for the shaman right now. His eyes return to the poster. As an unspoken debt for the men he killed¡­ ¡°Can I take this? I¡¯ll search for him for a week. No promises, but you can forget about the reward.¡± The Chief¡¯s eyes brighten with hope. ¡°Of course! No need to be so modest. I know one of Ki Bayanaka¡¯s disciples can handle this without much trouble.¡± Adanu Raksa lets out a slow sigh. Damn it. This is what he gets for using the old hermit¡¯s name. He rises to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll take my leave then. Thanks for the meal.¡± After leaving the Chief¡¯s house, Adanu Raksa wanders through the village, hoping to get a better sense of the situation. But there¡¯s nothing to go on. Kulonsewu is small, remote, isolated. After asking around, he learns about two nearest villages: - Karang Labu Village ¨C Two days¡¯ walk to the north; - Langsana Village ¨C One day¡¯s walk to the east. He has no choice but to leave Kulonsewu and head east. Descending the hills, he follows the narrow dirt paths leading to the valley, where the villagers'' paddy fields stretch across the land. But then¡ª Something catches his eye. The fields are ruined. Large patches of young paddy stalks lie flattened, as if they had been swept away by a flood. Adanu Raksa frowns. He approaches a group of farmers, their expressions grim as they examine the damage. ¡°What happened here?¡± Adanu asks. The farmers exchange puzzled glances. Finally, one of them steps forward. ¡°My son said there was a sudden flood before dawn. It didn¡¯t last long, but¡­ look what it did to our fields.¡± Adanu Raksa scratches his head. A flood in a drought-stricken village? This doesn¡¯t add up. Before he can ask more questions, shouts erupt from nearby. Another group of farmers is gathering in a commotion. Adanu Raksa rushes over. The villagers stand in a half-circle, staring at something half-buried in the mud. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°Could it be a monkey that got swept away by the flood?¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like a monkey to me.¡± ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just bloated from the water.¡± The farmers continue arguing over what it is, poking at the corpse with sticks. But Adanu Raksa¡¯s face darkens. He knows exactly what those carcasses are. They aren¡¯t monkeys. They¡¯re forest demons. The same ones that hunt him every night. Without hesitation, Adanu Raksa leaves the paddy field and follows the river upstream. The water still flows, but it¡¯s shallow¡ªfar too little to irrigate the farms. He keeps moving, pushing deeper into the woods far beyond Kulonsewu village. That¡¯s when he finds them, more carcasses of forest demons litter the riverbanks. His brows furrow. ¡°Is this why they didn¡¯t come after me last night?¡± It doesn¡¯t add up. If the flood had wiped out the demons, that would explain their absence¡ªbut what about the evil spirits? They can fly. Water shouldn¡¯t be a problem for them. Something about this is deeply wrong. It¡¯s so wrong. He continues his investigation, scouring the area for clues. But as the afternoon fades into evening, he finds nothing useful. Adanu Raksa clicks his tongue in frustration. If the demons come looking for him tonight, he¡¯ll need to be well-rested. With no other choice, he settles down and drifts into sleep¡ªagain, past sundown. Until some moments later¡­ CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! A frantic knocking jolts Adanu Raksa awake. The sharp, erratic rhythm echoes through the night. His senses snap to attention. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± His heart pounds. That sound¡ªbamboo sticks clashing¡ªa village alarm. A warning of something terrible. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡­ the demons are attacking Kulonsewu?!¡± He launches himself downhill, running so fast, and then leaping toward a lower tree and landing on a thick branch. From there, he gets a clear view of the village. A large crowd has gathered in front of one house. Something is very wrong. Without hesitation, he jumps down, past a house, and lands on the village¡¯s main road. THUD. Several young villagers whirl around, startled. ¡°Who is he?!¡± ¡°Where did he come from?!¡± ¡°Could he be the young shaman?¡± Fortunately, the Village Chief arrives before things escalate. ¡°Hold down! Put down your weapons! He is an honored guest of our village.¡± The youngsters lower their sharpened bamboo spears, still looking wary. Adanu Raksa rushes to the Chief. ¡°Sir! What¡¯s happening?¡± The old man¡¯s face is grim. ¡°It¡¯s another possession. Please, come with me. The girl is breaking free.¡± ¡°Another possession?¡± Adanu Raksa frowns. ¡°Didn¡¯t the girl¡¯s parents tie her down?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the Chief mutters. 004 - The Altar of Headless Corpses Meanwhile, the possessed girl thrashes violently, slipping free from her parents¡¯ desperate grasp. Her body contorts unnaturally, limbs jerking as if yanked by invisible strings. Strands of messy hair whip wildly, her wide, unblinking eyes burning with madness. Drool glistens on her trembling lips. A single cloth wraps her from chest to thigh, but her beauty is overshadowed by the sheer horror of her trance. Adanu Raksa narrows his eyes. A thought creeps in¡ªis she haunted by the same spirits that hunt me? He hesitates. His branded soul has a way of agitating evil spirits. If he gets too close, he might make things worse. But then¡ª A ridiculous idea pops into his head. ¡°Chief, tell the others to let her go.¡± The Village Chief¡¯s face twists. ¡°Are you out of your mind?¡± Adanu smirks. ¡°If this spirit works for the shaman, it¡¯ll lead us straight to him.¡± Understanding flickers in the Chief¡¯s eyes. He nods and orders the villagers to stand back. The moment they release her, the girl¡¯s violent thrashing eases. She staggers forward, moving without hesitation toward the village road. A few villagers trail behind, wary. Adanu Raksa turns to the Chief. ¡°I¡¯ll keep watch from the trees.¡± The Chief blinks. ¡°Why?¡± Adanu doesn¡¯t answer. Instead, he leaps onto a rooftop. ¡°Just follow her!¡± he calls back before vanishing into the darkness. From the treetops, he moves swiftly, leaping from branch to branch, tracking her progress from above. He has no choice. If the demons come looking for him, he can¡¯t risk being near the villagers. At the northern edge of the village, the girl wanders into the woods, her steps slow but deliberate. She moves uphill, deeper into the rainforest. Adanu Raksa follows from above, hand on his sword. Then¡ª A faint glow flickers in the dark. A bonfire, burning atop a distant cliff. His eyes narrow. Could it be¡­? He drops from the trees and lands beside the Chief. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Get the girl and take her back.¡± The Chief¡¯s face tightens. ¡°Have you found the shaman?¡± Adanu exhales. ¡°Not sure. But it¡¯s too dangerous to let her go any further.¡± Without waiting for an answer, he vanishes into the forest. The hill looms ahead. But as he moves toward it, he finds his path blocked¡ª Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! A river. Or at least¡­ what should be a river. The water is almost gone. The riverbed lies cracked and dry. And then he sees why. Upstream, hundreds of demons and undead cluster together. But they¡¯re not just standing there. They¡¯re piling onto each other¡ªlimbs tangled, rotting bodies stacking into a grotesque, writhing mass. A dam. A shifting, unnatural dam made of the dead. Adanu¡¯s stomach twists. ¡°¡­What the hell?¡± The undead squirm against each other, bodies pressing tight, holding back the river¡¯s flow. Some are crushed under the weight of their own kind, but more keep throwing themselves onto the pile. The mass shudders as fresh waves of corpses join the blockade. This isn¡¯t natural. Undead don¡¯t act like this. They don¡¯t build. They don¡¯t strategize. And yet¡ªsomething is making them do this. Adanu¡¯s grip tightens on his sword. ¡°What the hell is controlling them?¡± Well, he doesn¡¯t have time to figure that out. He simply crosses the river while it¡¯s still dry. But sadly¡­ A deep groan rumbles through the blockade. His presence¡ªhis corrupted soul¡ªhas attracted them. And soon, the dam shudders violently. Cracks splinter through the shifting wall of bodies, the weight of the trapped water pushing against it. Adanu clicks his tongue. ¡°Tch. Mind your damn business, will you?¡± Then¡ª ¡°Shiiit!¡± The dam convulses. And¡ª BRSSH!!! The grotesque barricade collapses. Water erupting. A flood roaring down the riverbed like an unchained beast. Adanu sprints forward, leaping across the last stretch as the flood surges after him. He reaches higher ground just in time. Looking back, he sees forest demons swept away, their bodies tumbling through the raging current. But some escape. And now¡ªthey¡¯re hunting him. Adanu curses under his breath. ¡°Fuck! Here they come!¡± More undead emerge from the trees. Above, evil spirits drift between the branches, shifting like black smoke. There¡¯s no choice now. He sighs and unties the ribbon wrapped around his sword. Time to work. His sword cuts through bone and sinew, reducing forest demons and spirits alike to shrieking, writhing remains. But they keep coming. Adanu grits his teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this shit all night.¡± Instead of slaughtering them all, he carves a path, killing only those in his way. He sprints up the hill, leaving behind a trail of mangled corpses. *** At last, he reaches the top of the cliff. And what he finds makes his stomach twist. A makeshift altar stands at the cliff¡¯s edge, built from the massive remains of a felled tree. Torches burn low, flickering in the cold air. And at the altar¡¯s center¡ª A heap of headless young women lies motionless. Their naked bodies, bloodstained and limp, discarded like broken dolls. Adanu wipes his forehead, jaw tightening. ¡°Messier than I expected. Hope I don¡¯t have to clean this up later.¡± A figure stirs near the grotesque offering. A shirtless man, seated calmly, back facing Adanu. Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t need to see his face to know. This is the one he¡¯s looking for. The bounty poster didn¡¯t do him justice. He¡¯s young¡ªtoo young to be a shaman. But his calm, knowing gaze as he turns to face Adanu sends a chill down his spine. Adanu exhales. His eyes flick to the corpses. ¡°You stir chaos in Kulonsewu, offer them rain, and demand sacrifices?¡± The young shaman doesn¡¯t answer. He simply watches. Unshaken. Unafraid. Then, a slow smirk spreads across his lips. ¡°I see.¡± His voice is smooth, almost amused. He twirls his wooden staff, resting it against his shoulder. ¡°Now I understand. My demons were so hard to control¡­ because of you.¡± A pause. Then, his smirk widens. ¡°A man marked as an offering for the Carrion Flower Devil.¡± Adanu freezes. The fact that this man instantly recognizes him as a former offering sends a ripple of shock through him. Even stranger¡ªhe knows about the Carrion Flower Devil. ¡°Escaping the Carrion Flower Devil and surviving the demons¡¯ hunt?¡± the shaman muses. ¡°You¡¯re not just some wandering swordsman, are you?¡± Few can sense Adanu¡¯s condition. Only demons are drawn to the corruption that seeps from his soul. One thought crosses his mind¡ª Is this man even human? Adanu rolls his shoulders. ¡°So, you claim to control these demons? That explains why they stopped bothering me. Let me guess¡­ you¡¯re not human either.¡± The shaman smirks. ¡°Not human, you say? Kukuku¡­¡± Slowly, his frame shifts. Shoulders widen. His chest swells, thickening unnaturally. Dense black fur spreads across his skin as his spine hunches forward. Adanu squints, barely making out the full transformation. Then, the young shaman raises his staff, whispering incantation. The forest stirs. A rush of evil spirits surges through the trees, racing toward the altar. Forest demons and undead emerge. They crawl from the shadows, drawn to the shaman¡¯s call. Adanu exhales. ¡°So, you really do control these ugly bastards. How many humans did you sacrifice for that trick?¡± The shaman chuckles. ¡°Still acting calm, even when they¡¯re starving for you?¡± The spirits tremble, their hunger barely contained. The demons twitch restlessly, claws scraping dirt. And yet¡ª They do not attack. Something holds them back. Then, the shaman raises both hands. ¡°I know how much you crave his corrupted soul. If you¡¯re hungry¡ªdevour him!¡± At his command, the spirits break free, surging forward like a black tide. Adanu Raksa smirks. And then¡ª Swssh! A single stroke. And several spirits butchered in an instant. Their screams shatter the silence, sending a flock of bats screeching into the night. The shaman¡¯s eyes widen. Surprised. ¡°He can¡­ slay spirits?¡± That shouldn¡¯t be possible. Spirits aren¡¯t bound by flesh. They cannot be touched. Even the strongest warriors avoid them. And despite a spirit¡¯s touch doesn¡¯t wound¡ªit drains life, shatters sanity. And yet¡ª Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t flinch. Several spirits latch onto him, trying to siphon his life force. For a moment, their shrieks twist into delighted whispers. But then¡ª Shnng! He swings. The last spirit penetrating his body splits apart. ¡°Tch. Don¡¯t think you can get a free meal off me.¡± The others wail, their laughter twisting into agony. The shaman stares. Face twisted. Then¡­ He extends a hand toward a spirit, curling his fingers like pulling invisible strings. One spirit jerks violently, drawn toward him. ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem affected by you.¡± His voice stays calm, but his gaze sharpens. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡­ you failed to drain him?¡± The spirit shudders, raising both hands in a silent plea. Then, it whispers into the shaman¡¯s mind¡ª << I did eat his life force. >> A trembling confession. Then, the spirit backs off. The shaman tilts his head. ¡°Hmm? Maybe¡­ he¡¯s just used to it.¡± His expression darkens. ¡°Surely, this isn¡¯t the first time someone has tried to devour his soul.¡± 005 - Spirit Devourer The shaman then reaches for a pouch near the dead bodies. He pinches a handful of black dust and throws it into a torch. Whssh! The fire bursts violently, sending thick black smoke swirling through the air. The shaman waves the smoke toward the spirits. Immediately, they begin convulsing. Their hunger grows unbearable, their madness amplifying. Even Adanu Raksa notices the shift. ¡°The hell is wrong with these bastards?¡± Their shrill cries grow violent, their movements more erratic. A few forest demons manage to climb onto the cliff. Without hesitation, Adanu Raksa beheads the first two, then kicks another off the ledge. He knows they are endless, but he needs clear space to reach the shaman before exhaustion sets in. ¡°Are you just going to stand there?¡± he taunts after slicing through four spirits in one stroke. The shaman smirks. ¡°With this many soldiers at my disposal, why would I need to fight you myself?¡± Adanu Raksa grins. ¡°I mean, you should run while you still can.¡± A dense, suffocating killing aura suddenly radiates from his body. The nearest spirits recoil instantly, momentarily stunned. And then¡ª Shnng! In a blink, Adanu Raksa closes the distance, his sword aimed straight for the shaman¡¯s neck. The shaman barely reacts. Instead, he simply tilts his head slightly downward. Clang! The blade collides with something solid. Adanu Raksa¡¯s eyes widen. The shaman¡¯s left forehead has begun to shift. From his skin, something protrudes. A horn. It¡¯s growing¡ªslowly, steadily. Adanu Raksa exhales sharply. ¡°What the hell are you?¡± The shaman swings his wooden staff with crushing force. Adanu barely evades in time, but the impact sends him skidding toward the cliff¡¯s edge. Pebbles crumble beneath his feet. One step too far, and he¡¯ll fall into the ravine. But there¡¯s no time to breathe. A swarm of evil spirits already hurl themselves at him. ¡°Get out of my way!¡± With a sharp arc of his sword, he cleaves through them, their screams piercing the night. Adanu Raksa barely has time to recover. When he looks back, he finds the shaman no longer human. His head has twisted into the grotesque form of a goat, curved horns jutting from his skull. His legs are now those of a beast, hooved and unnaturally bent. Though his torso remains humanoid, his entire body is now covered in thick black fur. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Adanu Raksa¡¯s eye twitches. ¡°What the hell? Since when did a goat learn magic?¡± The shaman laughs, his voice guttural and distorted. Then, he leaps. High into the air. And when he lands¡ª BAM!!! The wooden staff slams into the ground with devastating force, sending shockwaves through the cliffside. Adanu Raksa flips to the left, rolling twice before regaining his footing. But no sooner does he rise than¡ª SNARL! Forest demons charge from the side. ¡°Tch.¡± He slashes through two of them¡ª But before he can turn¡ª WHAM!!! The shaman¡¯s staff strikes from behind. The force hurls Adanu Raksa into the rocky cliff wall. CRACK! Pain erupts through his spine. Blood spills from his mouth. He staggers, vision blurred. But instead of attacking again, the shaman just stands there, wooden staff planted into the ground. He grins. ¡°That arrogance of yours... I don¡¯t know how long you¡¯ve been fighting these demons, but there¡¯s a whole world of horrors you haven¡¯t seen yet.¡± Adanu Raksa spits out blood, wiping his mouth. ¡°And yet, here you are bragging after landing just one hit.¡± He sways slightly. Then¡ª He starts to move. His stance shifts, his feet light, his sword weaving through the air in smooth arcs. The shaman¡¯s eyebrow raises. ¡°Dancing? Have you lost your mind after hitting your head?¡± But then, he notices it. Something feels different. Adanu Raksa¡¯s movements aren¡¯t random. He¡¯s building momentum. His blade begins to blur¡ªstriking faster and faster, closing in. Until then, the tip of his sword nears the shaman¡¯s chin. ¡°Too easy!¡± The shaman spins his wooden staff, deflecting the attack. But the sword doesn¡¯t stop. Instead of being knocked away, it curves. Still moving. Still gaining momentum. The shaman frowns. ¡°What trick is this?¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s sword accelerates, his strikes flowing endlessly. The shaman parries once. Twice. Three times. But each time¡ª The force behind the blade grows stronger. It¡¯s relentless. There is no opening. Then¡ª Slash! Slash! Slash! The shaman¡¯s skin splits, piece by piece. He yelps, stepping back. His staff swings wildly, trying to push Adanu Raksa away. But he can¡¯t. He gasps. ¡°What the hell is this?!¡± Blood sprays. Flesh peels. More evil spirits and demons rush forward to help. But Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t stop. He cuts them down mid-swing, never breaking momentum. His sword never slows. His arc of slashes is infinite. Until¡ª SHING! The sword sinks deep into the shaman¡¯s side. And then¡ª Thud! It stops. Adanu Raksa¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°¡­What?¡± The blade can¡¯t completely split the shaman¡¯s body as he hoped. It¡¯s stuck. ¡°You monster!¡± he growls, irritated. The shaman grins wickedly. ¡°You¡¯re the monster.¡± Before Adanu Raksa can react¡ª WHOOSH! The shaman spins his staff upward. CRACK! The wooden staff slams into Adanu Raksa¡¯s chin. His head snaps back. For a moment¡ªhis vision flashes white. But his grip on the sword never loosens. He rips it free, stumbling back. His breathing comes heavy. The shaman gasps for air as well, kneeling with one leg down. Blood drips from his wounds. Adanu Raksa notices something strange. The shallow cuts in the shaman¡¯s body are already closing, engulfed in smokeless flame. The deep wounds remain open, but the fire licking at them violently. The shaman glares at him, hate burning in his eyes. ¡°Now I see why the Carrion Flower Devil wants you.¡± Adanu Raksa smirks. ¡°Tell him I¡¯m flattered.¡± But his eyes remain locked on the burning wounds. They¡¯re trying to heal. The shaman clenches his jaw. And then, he reaches out. The remaining evil spirits jerk violently, their bodies twisting toward him. One by one¡ª He pulls them in. His hands grasp the spirits, his fingers tightening. And then, he swallows them whole. Soon, his breathing steadies, reinvigorated. His wounds finish closing. Adanu notices the oddities. But still¡­ ¡°Thank you for killing them, but¡­ Are you done?¡± The shaman grins wickedly. ¡°I might already kill a few, but more will come as long as you live. And as long as they come¡­ I will never die.¡± At that, Adanu Raksa can no longer hide his doubts. He has confidence to hold off the forest demons until dawn. But this goat-like demon? He¡¯s not so sure. Unlike the mindless creatures he fights every night, this shaman has skill. And if he doesn¡¯t disappear with the sunrise, then it will be a disaster. Doubt seeps into his mind. And doubt makes him weaker. He starts to slip, his reactions slowing. His focus fractures. The shaman grins, pressing the attack, landing several blows. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Losing your will to fight?¡± The more he pushes Adanu Raksa into a corner, the more he awakens something primal in him¡ª A survivor¡¯s instinct. Adanu Raksa¡¯s focus is back. But no matter how many times Adanu injures his enemy, the shaman simply devours more spirits and restores himself. The cycle repeats. And the shaman chuckles. ¡°I can go on like this forever.¡± Adanu Raksa grits his teeth. ¡°I can just wait for dawn.¡± ¡°And you really think you¡¯ll last that long?¡± the shaman teases. Adanu Raksa has no answer. Because, truthfully, he¡¯s running out of option. The shaman lands another crushing blow. Bam! Then another. Bam! Then another. A series of successive blows. Bam, Dsh, bug, BAM! Adanu Raksa crashes into the rocky cliff wall, blood dripping from his mouth. The shaman laughs, relishing his advantage. ¡°See? In no time, I¡¯ll devour your soul and make myself even stronger.¡± He grabs another spirit¡ªchews¡ªswallows. Adanu Raksa breathes heavily. ¡°Is that why you fight with a staff instead of a sword?¡± The shaman smirks. ¡°So you figured it out, huh?¡± Adanu Raksa wipes blood from his lips. ¡°You keep me alive to weaken me.¡± The shaman licks his lips. ¡°Your soul is different, isn¡¯t it?¡± He grins. ¡°It¡¯s already been mixed with the Carrion Flower Devil¡¯s spirit. I bet it¡¯s more delicious than these girls I sacrificed.¡± Adanu Raksa clenches his sword tighter. He breathes deeply, standing with an unsteady sway. He lifts his black Damascus sword to his face. And then, he whispers to it. ¡°Sorry, guys. Looks like I¡¯ll make you all suffer again like before.¡± ¡°But please¡ªdon¡¯t disturb my mind when I¡¯m fighting him.¡± The blade shudders. The shaman¡¯s smirk falters. ¡°What the hell are you talking to?¡± Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t answer. And then¡ª Grooo!!! A sudden burst of suffocating killing aura erupts from him. But it vanishes instantly. The shaman narrows his eyes. ¡°Did¡­ did he just lose all his life force?¡± Something isn¡¯t right. Adanu Raksa falters, limbs heavy with exhaustion. His sword grows unnaturally dense. Transparent, white plasma engulfs the blade, pulsing like a living thing. 006 - You Reap What You Sow He sways, slowly walks toward the shaman¡ªthe sword dragging slightly against the ground. The shaman scoffs. ¡°What is this now? You look like you¡¯re about to die.¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s voice is flat, hollow. ¡°Just keep talking while you still can.¡± Ignoring the odd changes, the shaman jumps¡ªslamming his staff down with full force. Adanu blocks with his sword, and¡­ CLANG! A wave of pressure crushes his mind. His eyes squeeze shut. ¡°Please, endure it.¡± The shaman looks curious, and then chuckles. ¡°Begging now, are you?¡± He swings again. But this time¡ª SHINK! Adanu Raksa counters. A sharp snap cuts through the air. The tip of the shaman¡¯s staff is gone. The shaman stares, frozen. His weapon¡­ was cut? Something that has never happened before¡ªhappens. ¡°How?¡± A flicker of panic flashes in his eyes. He grabs an evil spirit, chews, and then blows its essence onto his broken staff. The wood glows. He slams it to the rocky ground, and¡­ Trank! It weirdly sounds solid like a metal pole. The shaman exhales. ¡°You imbue your weapon with spirit energy¡ªsame as me.¡± Adanu Raksa nods slightly. ¡°You¡¯re not as unique as you think.¡± And so, the battle resumes. But¡­ Each time the weapons clash, a surge of pressure invades Adanu Raksa¡¯s mind. Screams whisper through his skull. And at every collision, he closes his eyes. ¡°Endure it.¡± He then steps back¡ªnot to retreat, but to create space. The shaman sneers. ¡°Running away now?¡± He charges, confidently swinging his staff. Blinded by arrogance, the shaman fails to realize¡ªAdanu Raksa has been luring him into this exact moment. He lowers his sword. Not surrendering. But waiting, aiming for the right moment. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. And then¡ª Swssh! He lets the staff slide past¡ªducks¡ªand twists his blade upward. Slsh! A sharp gust of wind. A blur of steel. And¡ª Silence. The shaman frowns. ¡°What¡­?¡± He sees his staff¡ªcut cleanly in two. And his arm floats. Severed. And¡ª His head. And then¡ª Pain. Unbearable, endless pain. His severed neck and head ignite in flame. Yet his eyes widen in horror. ¡°Aaargh! DAMN YOU! How can I¡ª¡± His once-arrogant, confident voice twists into a frantic, whining grumble. ¡°How the hell did a weak stroke like that cut my head?! It hurts, you damn bastard! There¡¯s no way a mere kid¡¯s sword could do this to me!¡± The shaman writhes in agony, cursing and howling as his severed head burns with unholy fire. Adanu Raksa, however, simply stares, slack-jawed, his face a mix of amusement and disgust. ¡°Fuck! How are you still talking?!¡± The shaman sneers, even through his pain. ¡°That¡¯s the difference between you and me, fool. You¡¯re still too green to comprehend my nature. I am immortal! No mere sword can kill me!¡± His body rises, grasping blindly for its severed head. He struggles, hands shaking, trying to reconnect the head back to his burning neck. But¡ª ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it!¡± Thud! Adanu Raksa¡¯s boot slams into the head, sending it flying across the cliffside. ¡°NOOOO!!!¡± The shaman¡¯s shriek is almost pathetic. The head tumbles across the dirt, rolling like a discarded fruit. Adanu Raksa rushes after it and, without hesitation¡ª Wham! He kicks it even harder. It smashes against a rock, bouncing back. ¡°Fuck you, human!!!¡± the shaman bellows, his fury unabated. ¡°You dare humiliate me this way?! I swear, I¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up! You deserve it!¡± Adanu Raksa doesn¡¯t stop there. With cold determination, he turns back to the shaman¡¯s twitching body. His sword swings, severing limbs, slicing flesh, reducing the once-mighty sorcerer into scattered, bloody pieces. Yet, as he tosses chunks of the corpse into the ravine, the shaman¡¯s head continues to scream. ¡°PLEASE! Kill me!¡± The shaman''s voice cracks with desperation. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me like this! Just stab my head and end it!¡± Adanu Raksa smirks cruelly. ¡°No.¡± He tosses another piece of the shaman¡¯s torn body into the abyss. ¡°You reap what you sow, bastard. I¡¯ll let you live¡ªwithout a body. If you want to die, why don¡¯t you just kill yourself?¡± The shaman¡¯s eyes widen with horror. ¡°How am I supposed to kill myself like this?!¡± Adanu Raksa shrugs. ¡°Bite your own tongue, you idiot.¡± And with that, he turns away, sitting at the edge of the cliff, resting, waiting for dawn to come. Below him, the forest demons continue clawing up from the ravine. But with a few well-placed kicks and slashes, Adanu Raksa knocks them back down, one by one. Meanwhile¡ª The shaman¡¯s head sobs pathetically, still pleading for death. ¡°I swear, I¡¯ll never do anything bad again! I¡¯ll even help people without asking for anything in return! But please, I beg you¡ªJUST KILL ME!¡± Adanu Raksa scoffs. ¡°What kind of request is that?¡± He leans back casually, smirking. ¡°There¡¯s no way you can help anyone if I kill you now.¡± Adanu Raksa looks so tired, exhausted. And the shaman¡¯s pleading only makes him even more frustrated. But without him knowing¡­ The shaman is muttering something between his pleas. A chant. A whispered incantation. Later, Adanu Raksa¡¯s instincts scream at him. Something feels wrong. He suddenly stiffens. His eyes flick to the shaman¡¯s head. But it¡¯s too late. WHOOOOSH! A swarm of malevolent spirits appears before him. Not one. Not five. More than twenty. ¡°Shit¡ª!¡± A black tide of whispering death. Their ghastly hands latch onto him, gripping his head, clawing into his very being. A sinister chorus hisses into his mind. << Stop struggling, branded child. There is no point in fighting anymore. >> << Surrender. Let go. Accept your fate. It will be over soon. >> << Give us your soul, and you will find peace. >> << No more pain. No more suffering. Just¡­ rest. >> As the malevolent spirits tighten their grip on his mind, Adanu Raksa feels himself slipping. His thoughts scatter, his consciousness fading into emptiness. But even after minutes of struggling, they still cannot reach his soul. They claw, they dig, but they cannot penetrate. His vessel is too deep. Then¡ª A voice. Soft, warm, familiar. << Remember my words, Adanu Raksa. Do not let your desires blind you, no matter how noble your dream may be. Especially when your dreams involve another''s life. >> Something deep inside him stirs. A past long buried beneath trauma begins to crack open, spilling into the present. The voices pull him under, deeper, further into the distant past. *** 21 Years Ago¡­ Inside a chamber dimly lit by flickering oil lamps, casting long shadows on polished teakwood walls carved with ancient reliefs. The air is heavy with the scent of burning sandalwood and aged incense, their smoky tendrils curling toward the rafters, where the faint shadows of bats stirred in the thatched ceiling. Inside it, a newborn¡¯s cries echo through the chamber, raw and relentless. His mother is gone. Dead, not long after bringing him into the world. His father weeps too¡ªbut not as the baby does. His grief is silent. Drowning. Only he, and the devil whispering in his ear, can hear it. << You know what we are capable of. We can bring her back. But remember¡ªevery desire demands a sacrifice. >> ¡°Shut up,¡± the man murmurs, clutching his head. ¡°Shut up, shut up!¡± << Why not offer the child to us? He is worth enough to bring her back. After all, wasn¡¯t it him who caused her death? >> The man¡¯s gaze drifts downward. A kris lies before him¡ªa dagger of intricate, wavy design. The air around it pulses, thick with something unseen. His trembling fingers hover over the hilt. Then, his eyes shift to the baby. Still crying. Still helpless. << Yes¡­ Stab the kris into the floor. Summon the great carrion flower. Offer the child, and we will return your wife to you. >> Suddenly¡ª A few knocks at the door. The man flinches, jolted from the devil¡¯s grasp. ¡°Who is it?¡± ¡°Your Highness Jayantaka! It¡¯s me, Arkadevi!¡± His expression hardens. Prabu Jayantaka strides to the door and pulls it open. A woman enters¡ªa palace maid, her face lined with concern. ¡°Your Highness, you look unwell.¡± Her eyes dart to the crib. The baby¡¯s cries pull at her heart. ¡°The child¡ªhe must be hungry. I can nurse him, if you wish.¡± Jayantaka turns back to his baby, lifts him into his arms, cradling him for a long, silent moment. Then, he turns to Arkadevi. ¡°Arkadevi,¡± he says, his voice steady. ¡°I know of your love for Rangkabhumi. Why don¡¯t you marry him¡­ and leave this palace with my son?¡± Arkadevi blinks. ¡°Eh?¡± Jayantaka¡¯s eyes darken. ¡°Rangkabhumi is the man I trust the most. If not for his refusal, I would have made him Supreme Commander of my army.¡± His grip tightens around the baby. ¡°You have my blessing.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± the maid looks reluctant. ¡°This is a decree from your king.¡± His tone is final. ¡°Take the child. Leave the palace. And never return.¡± 007 - The Kings Curse Before dawn, a lone figure strides toward the king¡¯s residence. His steps are firm, unwavering. The soft rustling of richly woven fabric follows him, the golden hues of his intricately wrapped cloth gleaming under the dim torchlight. Rangkabhumi¡ªa noble warrior, a trusted knight, and the man Prabu Jayantaka holds closest. His sharp eyes scan the palace grounds until they land on the king. Jayantaka sits alone in a wooden pavilion, open on all sides, near the roaring waterfall. Moonlight reflects off the polished floor, casting shadows across his solemn face. Rangkabhumi doesn¡¯t bow. Doesn¡¯t kneel. Instead, he steps forward, voice sharp as a blade. ¡°Jayantaka! What the hell is this? Why did you cast away your own child? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re blaming the baby for Gayatri¡¯s death!¡± His tone is direct, disrespectful even. Any other man would be executed for speaking this way to a king. But Jayantaka doesn¡¯t flinch. Instead¡ª He exhales heavily, his hands tightening around a kris with a dragon-head motif carved into its hilt. ¡°It¡¯s not the child,¡± he murmurs. ¡°It¡¯s me. Gayatri died because of the curse I brought. Because of this kris.¡± Rangkabhumi frowns. He knows how the queen died. ¡°What nonsense are you speaking?¡± he snaps. ¡°Women die in childbirth all the time. That kris had nothing to do with it!¡± Jayantaka¡¯s grip trembles. ¡°I don¡¯t know anymore! Maybe it¡¯s the kris¡­ maybe it¡¯s just me. The whispers, the temptation¡ªthey¡¯re getting stronger.¡± Rangkabhumi stiffens. ¡°The devil¡¯s temptation?¡± His voice lowers, wary. ¡°Then ignore it. You¡¯re the Great Jayantaka. A mere demon can¡¯t break you.¡± Jayantaka shakes his head. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡± For a long moment, he says nothing. Then¡ª In one sudden motion, he lifts the kris¡­ and hurls it into the waterfall. The moment that dagger vanishes into the roaring cascade, Jayantaka stumbles. His body sways. His breathing hitches. It¡¯s as if he has just torn away a piece of himself. Rangkabhumi watches in stunned silence. Then¡ª A small smile creeps onto his lips. ¡°There,¡± he says, clapping Jayantaka on the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s done. You¡¯ve thrown it away. You don¡¯t need to abandon your son anymore.¡± Jayantaka shakes his head. ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee I won¡¯t try to retrieve it. The devil¡¯s temptation is strong. Stronger than you think. Tomorrow, I could order my men to search for it again.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. He clenches his fists. ¡°This is the only way. Take the child, Rangkabhumi. Take him away from me. Away from this cursed palace.¡± Rangkabhumi falls silent. He has heard the rumors about the kris and its role in Jayantaka¡¯s rise to power. How it aided him in forging the Chakradwipa Kingdom. Now, standing before his old friend, he realizes¡ª The rumors may have been true. After a long pause, Rangkabhumi exhales. ¡°¡­Alright. I¡¯ll take him, and raise him as my own child.¡± The next morning, Prabu Jayantaka elevates Rangkabhumi to the rank of Senapati¡ªmilitary general overseeing large armies, entrusting him with command over Talang Asri Fortress¡ªthe kingdom¡¯s southeasternmost stronghold. But before Rangkabhumi departs¡ª ¡°Don¡¯t you want to name him?¡± he asks. Jayantaka¡¯s gaze softens. ¡°Gayatri chose his name,¡± he says. ¡°Adanu Raksa.¡± He then hardens his voice. ¡°Never tell him where he came from. Let him be free. Let him live without my curse.¡± *** Under the cover of night, Rangkabhumi and Arkadevi leave the palace. Bramasti, a palace servant, takes the reins as the carriage driver. The journey is long, and Bramasti urges them to rest. Rangkabhumi sleeps soundly, unbothered. But Arkadevi cannot. The baby cries endlessly, forcing her to cradle and nurse him. In the dim glow of the resin lamp, Bramasti catches glimpses of her soft, delicate features¡ªher graceful hands, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Heat rises to his face. ¡°The king assigned you to be his mother now?¡± Bramasti asks, his voice laced with something unreadable. ¡°Stop speaking as if this child is the king¡¯s,¡± Arkadevi replies coldly, not sparing him a glance. ¡°Prabu Jayantaka¡¯s decree is clear¡ªno one must know his true identity.¡± Her dismissive tone stings. To Bramasti, she is only a palace maid, a woman of low birth. And yet, she speaks to him with such arrogance. And still¡ªhe cannot stop looking at her. The flickering lamplight catches in her dark eyes, in the gentle curve of her lips. His gaze lingers lower, tracing the soft arch of her body. But Arkadevi is oblivious. Or perhaps, she simply does not care. Bramasti clenches his jaw. He has known Rangkabhumi for years, but he never realized Arkadevi belonged to him. And so, his admiration persists. For now. *** By morning, the carriage stops near a river to rest the horses. Bramasti watches from afar as Rangkabhumi sits beside Arkadevi, teasing the baby in her lap. The way she smiles at him¡ªthe way her fingers brush over his arm¡ªsends something bitter curling in Bramasti¡¯s gut. ¡°That bastard,¡± he mutters under his breath. ¡°Why waste his affection on a mere maid? With his status, he could have any noblewoman he wanted.¡± He turns away, marching toward the river to fetch water. That¡¯s when he sees it. A dagger¡ªhalf-buried beneath the clear water, resting among the river stones. Its wavy blade gleams under the morning light. Bramasti¡¯s breath catches. ¡°No way¡­¡± His hands tremble as he picks it up, his heart pounding in his chest. It¡¯s Prabu Jayantaka¡¯s royal kris. For a moment, he forgets everything¡ªhis jealousy, his resentment. His first instinct is to rush back and tell Rangkabhumi. But then¡ª He stops. From a distance, he sees Rangkabhumi laughing softly, Arkadevi gazing at him with warmth in her eyes. Bramasti¡¯s grip tightens. His pulse quickens, his stomach twists. Something ugly¡ªsomething dark¡ªfesters inside him. Why him? Why does Rangkabhumi get everything? The king¡¯s favor. Honor. And now, Arkadevi. His fingers curl around the kris. His breathing grows uneven. And then¡ª << You want her, don¡¯t you? Just admit it. >> Bramasti freezes. The voice¡ªdeep, insidious¡ªseeps directly into his mind. It sounds like him. But darker. He whirls around, searching the trees. Nothing. Only silence. ¡°What¡­ was that?¡± he whispers. His eyes drift back to the dagger, his reflection twisted in its polished steel. His fingers tighten around the hilt. Slowly¡ªdeliberately¡ªhe tucks the kris beneath his robe. And without another thought¡ª He says nothing to Rangkabhumi. *** Nine years have passed, and peace flourishes across Chakradwipa. Even the poorest villages feel the blessings of their great king. Yet, among the children playing in the dusty fields of Talang Asri, none realize that one of them¡ªAdanu Raksa¡ªis the son of royalty. ¡°I don¡¯t care if your father is a general in the fort!¡± ¡°A weakling like you isn¡¯t welcome here!¡± ¡°But I just want to play!¡± young Adanu Raksa protests. ¡°Why do we have to fight?¡± ¡°We are children of Talang Asri! Future warriors who will guard Chakradwipa¡¯s borders!¡± ¡°We don¡¯t want a crybaby on our team!¡± ¡°If you want to join us, prove your worth!¡± And so, the bullying begins. Eight boys, all older than him, surround Adanu Raksa. Four younger ones watch from the sidelines, grinning in amusement. They are only peasant children, but they¡¯ve been trained in basic martial arts. With playful aggression, they swing twigs and hurl rotten fruit, each move exaggerated as if imitating warriors in battle. ¡°The Art of Monkey Throwing Fruits!¡± ¡°Langur Dance!¡± ¡°Elephant¡¯s Rampage!¡± Their attacks may be childish, but when executed properly, even twigs and rotten fruit can leave bruises. Adanu Raksa winces as another strike lands on his arm. ¡°Please! I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone!¡± he begs. ¡°Hurt us?¡± One boy scoffs. ¡°As if you could!¡± ¡°If you can make just one of us cry, we¡¯ll let you join The Band of the Great Protectors of Talang Asri!¡± Adanu Raksa grips his own twig but refuses to use it. He hesitates, unwilling to fight back. His silence earns their contempt. The boys stop using their twigs and begin kicking him instead. ¡°There¡¯s no way you can be one of us!¡± ¡°You¡¯re a coward!¡± ¡°I am NOT a coward!¡± Adanu Raksa shouts. ¡°I¡¯m the son of Rangkabhumi, the Great Protector of Talang Asri!¡± ¡°No! You¡¯re a disgrace to Talang Asri!¡± ¡°Coward!¡± Nearby, a few men sip their drinks in a small coffee tavern, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. ¡°I bet three gold coins the kid cries for his father first,¡± one smirks. ¡°Nah. He knows his father won¡¯t come. I¡¯ll bet three coins he calls for his mother.¡± Back in the dirt, Adanu Raksa curls into himself, shielding his body from the kicks. But even as the blows land, he does not cry out for help. ¡°Please, stop! I don¡¯t want to fight you!¡± ¡°Rangkabhumi must be ashamed to have a son like you!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll never protect this border if you¡¯re too afraid to hit someone!¡± The taunts sting deeper than the bruises. Until¡ª ¡°I AM NOT A COWARD!!!¡± A powerful roar erupts from Adanu Raksa, shaking the air. The boys freeze. A primal fear creeps into their bones. Even the men in the tavern rise from their seats, their easy amusement turning into concern. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°That kid¡­ Rangkabhumi¡¯s son¡­¡± Adanu Raksa stands, his tear-streaked cheeks flushed with fury. His twig trembles in his grip. His lips curl into a snarl. His voice drops into a low hiss. ¡°Kill¡­¡± 008 - The Impending War His hand snaps forward, grabbing a boy¡¯s neck. His twig raises high, ready to strike. The boy¡¯s breath catches. His body locks in terror. And then¡ª Plak! The twig stops mid-air, caught by a firm hand. Bramasti stands there, his face twisted with a mixture of rage and something deeper. ¡°Did I ever teach you to use my techniques against the weak?¡± he asks, his voice dangerously low. Adanu Raksa¡¯s fury wavers. ¡°But I¡ª¡± ¡°Go back to your mother. Now.¡± The coldness in Bramasti¡¯s voice snuffs out the last embers of Adanu Raksa¡¯s anger. His twig falls from his fingers. He turns and walks away, head low. Bramasti watches him go. Then, slowly, he looks down at his own hand¡ªthe hand that caught the twig. It¡¯s tingling. A dull, stinging pain lingers in his palm. He flexes his fingers. His thoughts darken. So¡­ this is what the boy is capable of. *** For years, Bramasti has acted as Adanu Raksa¡¯s mentor. He teaches him swordplay, guides his training. But his loyalty does not belong to the boy. It belongs to Arkadevi. Even after all these years, after she has made a life with Rangkabhumi, Bramasti¡¯s desire for her remains unchanged. Whenever Rangkabhumi is away at the fortress, Bramasti lingers. Always playing the role of the trusted friend. ¡°Good work, Adanu Raksa!¡± he praises, watching the boy¡¯s form in practice. ¡°You truly have the makings of a warrior.¡± ¡°One day, I¡¯ll be just like my father,¡± Adanu Raksa beams. ¡°A hero! The great general of Talang Asri!¡± Bramasti falls silent. For a moment, a new thought takes root in his mind. If this boy ever claims his true birthright¡­ His lips curl into a knowing smile. He leans in slightly. ¡°You know, about your father¡ªactually¡­¡± Before he can finish, Arkadevi steps outside, carrying a basket of laundry. Her beauty hasn¡¯t faded in the slightest. Bramasti¡¯s attention shifts immediately. And just like that, whatever he intended to say to the boy is forgotten. ¡°Well, keep training,¡± he says dismissively, before turning on his heel and following Arkadevi toward the river. The moment Arkadevi reaches the water¡¯s edge, kneeling to wash the clothes, Bramasti stops. He watches, peeking from behind the bushes. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. His breath grows heavier. A twisted smile forms on his lips. The way Arkadevi¡¯s wet garments cling to her. The glistening beads of water on her skin. When was the last time you touched her, Rangkabhumi? How could you leave such a beautiful woman all alone? Bramasti¡¯s thoughts spiral, his vision blurring. And then¡ª A strange sensation washes over him. The world shifts. Suddenly, he is not watching Arkadevi. He is with her. Holding her. Touching her. Her lips part in pleasure. Her skin is warm beneath his hands. It¡¯s so real. So vivid. He can feel her. Taste her. But suddenly¡ª His breath hitches. ¡°Ouw shit!¡± The illusion shatters. He blinks rapidly, his body trembling. His pulse racing. His gaze drops in horror. His pants are damp. ¡°¡­What was that?¡± he breathes. ¡°Was I¡­ dreaming?¡± A voice slithers into his mind. << What are you waiting for? Isn¡¯t that what you truly desire? >> Bramasti stiffens. Beneath his robe, the cursed kris trembles¡ªits energy coiling, whispering, feeding on his lust. Once again, the hunger stirs. And this time¡ª He doesn¡¯t resist. The illusion wasn¡¯t enough. The pleasure was fleeting. Bramasti craves real warmth. Real flesh. *** Finishing with the laundry, Arkadevi gathers the damp clothes into a wooden basket, preparing to leave¡ªonly to turn and gasp. Bramasti stands right in front of her. Her grip falters. The basket drops, spilling wet fabric onto the grassy ground. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Her voice is cold, eyes sharp with unease. Bramasti forces a sheepish smile and crouches to retrieve the fallen clothes. ¡°I was looking for you. Adanu Raksa was alone¡ªI got worried something happened.¡± He hands her the basket, his tone light, his gestures polite. He follows her back to the house, pretending to ease the tension. But Arkadevi remains distant. Cold. Later, even as Bramasti helps hanging the clothes in the backyard, Arkadevi never lets her guard down. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Bramasti tilts his head. ¡°Why? I haven¡¯t done anything wrong.¡± Arkadevi meets his gaze, unyielding. ¡°This house is far from the village. My husband isn¡¯t home. If anyone sees us alone together, people will start talking.¡± Bramasti steps closer, lowering his voice. ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m here.¡± She stiffens. ¡°You?!¡± Her tone sharpens, suspicion flaring. Bramasti exhales, his voice smooth. ¡°I know Rangkabhumi. He cares more about his fortress than his wife. What kind of husband leaves his woman alone for so long?¡± Arkadevi turns away. She rushes to finish hanging the clothes, refusing to engage. But Bramasti persists. ¡°You deserve better than him.¡± Arkadevi spins to face him. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it.¡± Her eyes blaze with disgust. ¡°Even if I weren¡¯t Rangkabhumi¡¯s wife, I still wouldn¡¯t accept a man like you.¡± Bramasti¡¯s pride snaps. His hand shoots out, gripping her wrist before she can hang the last piece of clothing. ¡°A man like me?¡± His smile twists. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with me? You act so high and mighty, Arkadevi. Just because you were a palace maid, you think you¡¯re noble?¡± Arkadevi spits in his face. ¡°Rangkabhumi has treated you like a brother,¡± she hisses. ¡°And this is how you repay him?¡± Bramasti slowly licks the saliva from his lips. His eyes darken. ¡°So what?¡± His grip tightens. His other hand snakes around her waist. Arkadevi thrashes. ¡°Let me go!¡± Bramasti chuckles, pressing closer. ¡°When was the last time Rangkabhumi kissed you? Touched you? Made you feel wanted?¡± ¡°You filth!¡± Arkadevi struggles, shoving at his chest. ¡°I am close to Prabu Jayantaka¡ªI will report you to the king!¡± A serious threat. A deadly one. But Bramasti doesn¡¯t care anymore. Lust. Temptation. The cursed Kris pulsing beneath his robe. They drown out reason. With a sudden lunge, he crushes his lips against hers. Arkadevi screams, twisting violently. They collapse onto the ground, tangled in the cloth from the clothesline. ¡°HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!¡± And then¡ª TUNG! A dull thud cracks against Bramasti¡¯s skull. He jerks, momentarily stunned. His head snaps up¡ªjust in time for¡ª TUNG!!! Another hit. Bramasti staggers, blinking rapidly. His vision clears¡ª And he freezes. Standing before him¡ª Adanu Raksa. The boy grips a wooden stick, his tiny hands trembling. His face is a mix of confusion and guilt. ¡°U-Uncle Bramasti?¡± He stares, puzzled. ¡°What¡­ what are you doing?¡± Bramasti scrambles away from Arkadevi, plastering on an innocent smile. ¡°Oh, no! I was just helping your mother with the clothes!¡± He forces a laugh. ¡°She slipped¡ªI was just catching her before she fell!¡± Arkadevi says nothing. She dusts herself off and silently gathers the scattered clothes. Adanu frowns, uncertain. Then, Arkadevi speaks. ¡°Your father will be home tomorrow.¡± Adanu¡¯s face brightens instantly. ¡°Really?! Father is coming home?!¡± Arkadevi turns to Bramasti, her gaze icy. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s coming home.¡± But Bramasti knows it¡¯s a lie. He knows Rangkabhumi isn¡¯t returning anytime soon. The Galuguh armies are advancing from the east, and Rangkabhumi is tied to the fortress. Bramasti, as his messenger, is privy to this knowledge. Even so¡ª Arkadevi¡¯s words carry a warning. And Bramasti understands. For now, he must pretend nothing happened. *** Even after all that happened, Bramasti dares to show his face at the fortress. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and metal. Soldiers move about, sharpening spears and reinforcing barricades. Horses stomp restlessly, snorting in the cool morning air. The clang of steel rings from the training yard. Banners bearing Chakradwipa¡¯s emblem flutter under the golden sunrise. Amid the bustling camp, Rangkabhumi stands tall, scanning the fortress with quiet authority. His focus shifts as Bramasti approaches, rubbing his swollen head. ¡°Bramasti! You¡¯re back?¡± Rangkabhumi greets warmly. ¡°How¡¯s my son? Has he managed to hit you yet?¡± Bramasti forces a laugh. ¡°Hah! That kid? It¡¯s too early for him. He can¡¯t even hold a stick properly.¡± Yet¡ª As he turns away, his hand instinctively rubs his bruised head. ¡°Damn¡­ why does it still hurt?¡± he mutters under his breath. Rangkabhumi catches the words. But, unaware of what transpired back home, he only smirks before turning back to his men, supervising their training. These soldiers aren¡¯t veterans. Just eager young men of Talang Asri, determined to prove themselves. Near the fortress gate, seasoned officers share a hearty meal, sharpening blades, trading boasts of past battles. The air hums with warmth, alive with joy and laughter, at least, until the thunder of galloping hooves shatters the moment. A scout arrives¡ªbreathless. Panicked. ¡°SENAPATI! SENAPATI RANGKABHUMI!!!¡± The officers fall silent. The scout leaps from his horse, face pale with urgency. ¡°The Galuguh army has moved.¡± He gasps. ¡°They¡¯ll reach us before sundown tomorrow.¡± Tension thickens. Some soldiers grip their spears tighter. Others exchange nervous glances. Rangkabhumi steps forward, calm. ¡°How many?¡± The scout swallows hard. ¡°One hundred horsemen. Seven hundred infantry. And from their border¡ª¡± He hesitates. Then, his voice trembles. ¡°They are preparing three thousand more.¡± 009 - Betrayal in the Shadow Rangkabhumi¡¯s expression hardens. The threat isn¡¯t just the fort¡ªit¡¯s Chakradwipa itself. If Galuguh is mobilizing such a force, they¡¯re not merely attacking the border. They¡¯re planning to invade. ¡°We can¡¯t hold this fort against an army that size,¡± one soldier mutters. Rangkabhumi turns toward the voice, his sharp gaze scanning his men. Before he can respond, he spots Bramasti approaching. ¡°Bramasti!¡± He calls. ¡°Ride to Senapati Kagendra in Muncar Regency. Inform him of the situation and request reinforcements.¡± Bramasti bows, then rushes to his horse. Without hesitation, he kicks into a gallop, dust billowing behind him as he speeds away. But his path is not north. Not towards Muncar Regency. Instead, he veers toward a nearby hill, a twisted grin spreading across his face. ¡°Gyahahaha! This is perfect. Let him die at Galuguh¡¯s hands. Soon, Arkadevi will be mine! She belongs to me!¡± At the hilltop stands a modest hut, one Bramasti has clearly visited before. The abandoned hut is small and weathered, its bamboo walls faded and brittle from years of neglect. Bramasti moves with familiarity, reaching beneath a bamboo couch and retrieving a hidden jug of wine. Stepping to the cliff¡¯s edge, he takes a deep gulp, savoring the burn. He settles onto a broad, weathered tree stump, its surface smooth from years of exposure. Positioned at the cliff¡¯s edge, it offers an unobstructed view of the fortress below. ¡°Let¡¯s see how you defend your precious border, Rangkabhumi.¡± He sneers. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯ll look after your wife. Just as you always asked me to. Gyahahaha!¡± From his vantage point, he notices movement in the valley. Soldiers rush toward Talang Asri, warning the villagers. Farmers abandon their fields, fleeing toward the village, while eager young men march toward the fortress, ready to volunteer. Their bravery is admirable. But against an army of thousands, it will make no difference. *** Back in Talang Asri, the village chief arrives at Rangkabhumi¡¯s house, breathless. ¡°Arkadevi! The border is in danger¡ªGaluguh¡¯s forces are approaching. We must evacuate!¡± Arkadevi shakes her head firmly. ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯m leaving this place without Prabu Jayantaka¡¯s permission,¡± she says. ¡°Why?¡± The village chief looks baffled. ¡°It¡¯s the king¡¯s decree for me to stay here. After all, I know the king will not abandon us!¡± she declares with confidence, her face betraying no fear. But as the village chief turns away, doubt creeps into her heart. It¡¯s not just her trust in the king¡­ The real reason she can¡¯t leave¡­ Because the king¡¯s son is here with her. But he is not at home, and she hasn¡¯t found him yet. *** This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Not far from home, in a secluded cemetery, Adanu Raksa lounges in the grass, lazily watching his cows graze. The cemetery is simple, unadorned¡ªa resting place untouched by time. No stone markers, no grand memorials¡ªjust mounds of earth, blending into the wild landscape. Tall grass and thick bushes sway in the breeze, creeping over the graves as if nature itself has reclaimed the land. The dense undergrowth sprawls unchecked, not eerie, but serene. Unlike most, he feels no fear here. To him, the cemetery isn¡¯t haunted¡ªonly quiet. Peaceful. He comes here almost daily, undisturbed by the living or the dead. But today¡­ A strange movement in the bushes catches his eye. ¡°Huh?¡± The air ripples unnaturally, as if something invisible stirs within. Rubbing his eyes, he blinks¡ª A woman bursts from the undergrowth. Draped in flowing white garments, she runs with urgency, glancing over her shoulder in panic. Adanu Raksa tilts his head. He knows everyone in Talang Asri, but he has never seen this woman before. ¡°Oh! Hello there!¡± he calls, raising a hand in a friendly wave. She doesn¡¯t answer. She just keeps running, glancing over her shoulder. Then¡ªshe stumbles. ¡°Kyaa!¡± With a cry, she falls forward, landing in the grass. Adanu Raksa rushes over. But as he reaches for her, his breath catches. Her skin¡ª It shimmers. Faintly transparent, as if she isn¡¯t entirely¡­ real. For a moment, he hesitates. Then, determined, he grabs her hand. The moment he touches her, her skin solidifies, appearing normal beneath his grip. Was he imagining things? ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asks, concerned. ¡°You look exhausted. Is something chasing you?¡± The woman doesn¡¯t answer. Instead, she tilts her head to the sky, her expression tightening with worry. ¡°No¡­ It¡¯s getting dark.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Adanu Raksa frowns. Then, she finally looks at him¡ªtruly looks. Her wide, piercing eyes study his face with intensity. ¡°You¡­¡± Her voice lowers to a whisper. ¡°How can a child like you have such an overflowing spirit?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Your vessel¡­ It¡¯s deep. Your spirit energy is abundant.¡± Adanu Raksa scratches his head. ¡°Lady, what are you talking about?¡± She blinks, then offers a soft smile. ¡°Nothing. You must be the son of someone great.¡± He puffs out his chest proudly. ¡°Yeah! I¡¯m the son of Rangkabhumi, the greatest general of Talang Asri!¡± Her smile falters. A strange emotion flickers in her gaze. Then, gently, she leans closer to him. ¡°Um¡­ What are you doing?¡± Adanu Raksa shifts awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she murmurs. ¡°But I need your help.¡± Without warning¡ª A strange sensation washes over him. Adanu Raksa instinctively flinches. A cold shiver crawls down his spine. His fingers twitch, his breathing falters¡ªbut his body feels too heavy to resist. Something is being pulled from his body¡ªsomething unseen. A pale, glowing mist drifts from his skin, drawn into her slightly parted lips. His limbs grow heavy. His vision blurs. ¡°What¡¯s¡­ happening?¡± His voice weakens. ¡°Why am I¡­ so tired?¡± Darkness creeps at the edges of his mind. The woman, now glowing faintly, exhales with relief. Her once-weary face appears refreshed, her pallid skin now vibrant and warm. The woman gazes at the boy¡¯s sleeping face, a strange heaviness settling in her chest. This child¡ªhis energy, his kindness¡ªhe had given her something precious to survive. She gently traces his features with her eyes, memorizing every detail¡ªthe curve of his brow, the softness of his breath, the faint traces of exhaustion lingering in his expression. This debt, she would not forget. She leans down, whispering softly¡ª ¡°My name is Indri Kesvari. Forgive me. I had to take a little of your spirit energy. But don¡¯t worry¡ªyou will recover after a night¡¯s sleep.¡± She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then¡ª Her form shimmers, becoming weightless. She drifts into the air, her white robes billowing like mist. And before Adanu Raksa¡¯s unconscious body¡ª She transforms. With a flutter of wings, a white pigeon soars into the twilight, vanishing into the forest. Not long after, Arkadevi arrives. As soon as she spots Adanu Raksa lying motionless on the ground, a sharp wave of panic seizes her chest. She rushes to him, her hands trembling as she checks for breath, for warmth¡ª Then, relief washes over her. He¡¯s just sleeping. ¡°Hey, wake up!¡± she calls, shaking him gently. Adanu Raksa stirs, his eyelids fluttering open. ¡°Uh¡­ Mom?¡± ¡°Why are you sleeping here?¡± Her voice wavers between relief and frustration. He yawns, rubbing his eyes. ¡°Huh? I don¡¯t know. I just feel¡­ so tired. And so sleepy.¡± Arkadevi sighs, scooping him up into her arms. He¡¯s heavier than before¡ªhe¡¯s growing. Still, she carries him with ease. ¡°How can you sleep in the middle of a cemetery like this?¡± she mutters. ¡°If Prabu Jayantaka knew about this, he¡¯d be furious at me.¡± Adanu Raksa blinks, confused. ¡°Huh? Why would the king be mad at you, Mom? Is he grumpy?¡± ¡°Very,¡± she replies, adjusting his weight. ¡°And he really hates naughty children. He sends his army when he gets angry.¡± ¡°Mmkay¡­ If he¡¯s mad at me, he can face my dad first.¡± ¡°You fool,¡± Arkadevi chuckles, shaking her head. ¡°The king is much stronger than your father.¡± ¡°No way!¡± She only sighs in response, holding him a little tighter. *** Meanwhile, Rangkabhumi moves through the fort, his sharp eyes scanning the state of his men. Every sword, every spear, every shield¡ªeverything must be in place before the enemy arrives. But the sight before him is grim. Barely a hundred soldiers remain. Most are young and untested¡ªonly a handful bears the scars of past battles. Among them, thirteen eager boys from Talang Asri clutch their makeshift weapons, determined to fight. A commander steps closer, lowering his voice. ¡°This won''t be enough to hold against Galuguh¡¯s forces.¡± Rangkabhumi doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Rest assured. Senapati Kagendra will arrive with reinforcements by morning.¡± But morning comes, and Kagendra¡¯s army does not. The sun climbs higher. Still no reinforcements. Still no sign of Bramasti. Whispers spread among the soldiers. Doubt seeps in. ¡°Could it be¡­ the King has abandoned this border?¡± ¡°Are we fighting for nothing?¡± ¡°Should we retreat before it¡¯s too late?¡± Rangkabhumi¡¯s voice cuts through the unease like a blade. ¡°No! Prabu Jayantaka won¡¯t abandon Talang Asri.¡± His jaw tightens. ¡°Something must¡¯ve happened to Bramasti.¡± He clenches his fists, then turns to one of his commanders, Panglima Jaka Wulung¡ªknown as the black hawk. ¡°Jaka! Take my horse. Ride to Muncar. Deliver the message yourself.¡± ¡°But Senopati¡ª¡± ¡°No arguments.¡± Rangkabhumi¡¯s tone is firm. ¡°If you leave now, you¡¯ll reach Muncar before dark. There¡¯s still time.¡± ¡°But the enemy will be here by noon.¡± Rangkabhumi¡¯s gaze burns with resolve. ¡°Then I¡¯ll hold them off until you return with reinforcements. Now go!¡± Jaka hesitates¡ªthen salutes, swings onto the horse, and rides off in a cloud of dust. 010 - The Siege of Talang Asri By late afternoon, Galuguh¡¯s army appears on the horizon. A storm of banners and armored men, stretching as far as the eye can see. The sun glints off their spears and shields, casting an ominous shimmer. Rangkabhumi tightens his grip on his sword. They don¡¯t attack immediately. Instead, they halt a short distance away, their ranks shifting, their leaders discussing strategy. Rangkabhumi exhales. Good. They¡¯re resting. That means he can prepare. But nightfall brings a cruel revelation. Galuguh¡¯s forces don¡¯t wait for dawn. They launch their assault under the cover of darkness. A calculated attack. A battle of attrition. They split their forces into two waves, ensuring relentless pressure throughout the night. Meanwhile, Rangkabhumi¡¯s outnumbered men have no such luxury. The defenders fight without rest. The clang of steel, the whistling of arrows, and the screams of men fill the air. A commander¡¯s voice booms over the chaos¡ª ¡°Hold your ground! Don¡¯t let them breach the gate!¡± Another officer shouts¡ª ¡°Archers! Fire at will! Stop them before they reach the walls!¡± The volley of arrows cuts through the night sky, striking down dozens¡ªbut the enemy keeps coming. A soldier cries out, his spear shaking¡ª¡°There¡¯s too many of them!¡± A commander grabs him by the collar, shaking him fiercely. ¡°Steel your nerves, boy! You falter, and we all die!¡± Another commander roars from the ramparts¡ª ¡°Ladders on the western wall! Push them down!¡± Men rush to topple the siege ladders, hacking at them with axes, but the enemy is relentless. BOOM! A battering ram crashes against the fortress gate. ¡°Reinforce the gate! Stack the barricades!¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. More men throw their weight against the door, but the wood is starting to crack. ¡°To the eastern wall! They¡¯re climbing up!¡± Rangkabhumi dashes through the narrow corridors of the fortress, his ears filled with the sounds of battle. He reaches the eastern wall just in time to see enemy soldiers vaulting over the battlements. ¡°Kill them before they set foot inside!¡± he roars. His men charge forward, steel flashing under the moonlight. The nightmare begins. A war drenched in blood Steel clashes against bone. Blood sprays in crimson arcs, painting the once-proud stone walls in slick red streaks. Screams pierce the night¡ªsome from dying men, others from those forced to watch their comrades butchered before their eyes. The fortress floor grows slick, coated with spilled entrails and shattered bodies. Severed limbs litter the battlefield, trampled underfoot as the fighting rages on. A soldier falls nearby, his gut sliced open¡ªhe tries to hold himself together, trembling, choking on his own blood. Another man screams, pinned beneath a fallen comrade, his skull caved in by a Galuguh war hammer. The scent of iron and rot clings to the air, mingling with the acrid burn of torches and blood-soaked earth. Rangkabhumi¡¯s men fight like cornered beasts. One soldier swings his sword wildly, his face smeared with gore¡ªhis expression one of pure terror. He cleaves an enemy¡¯s arm clean off, but before he can celebrate¡ª Shnk! A spear pierces his throat. He gurgles, his eyes wide¡ªthen collapses, dead before he hits the ground. An officer¡¯s head is hacked from his shoulders, his decapitated body staggering for a moment before crumpling, blood gushing like a fountain. The fortress turns into a slaughterhouse. And by midnight, the enemy breaches the fortress. ¡°Get in! Get in!¡± ¡°Kill them all and seize the fort!¡± The walls are lost, and the fight spills into the inner courtyards. More than half of Rangkabhumi¡¯s men lie dead. The survivors bleed from countless wounds, their strength waning. Rangkabhumi knows he must enter the fight. Without hesitation, he leaps from the second floor, his foot gliding over air like a phantom. His blade sings through the darkness¡ª Shnk! Two enemy heads roll before his boots even touch the ground. His war cry roars across the battlefield. ¡°Do not lose hope! General Kagendra is on his way!¡± As the enemy surged forward, Rangkabhumi tightened his grip on his bloodied blade, exhaling sharply. ¡°If this fortress must fall¡­ then I will make them bleed for every stone they take.¡± Rangkabhumi¡¯s war cry reignites the dying flames of his soldiers¡¯ spirits. ¡°Push them out of the fort!¡± ¡°Clear them out¡ªwe need space to recover!¡± ¡°We must hold this fortress until morning!¡± More voices rise, determination burning in their eyes. Victory no longer matters¡ªonly survival. Their minds are set on Talang Asri, their families, their home. Losing the fort means losing everything. And so, they fight with reckless abandon, willing to sacrifice themselves for those they love. Their desperate counterattack drives the enemy back, forcing them out of the fortress. But the cost is steep. Blood stains the stone floors, bodies litter the ground, and those still standing are barely holding on. ¡°Close the gates! Destroy their ladders¡ªthey¡¯ll be back soon!¡± The young men from Talang Asri rush forward. They are not soldiers, but their hands are steady as they move to aid the wounded, fortify defenses, and give the warriors a brief moment to breathe. A commander approaches, his face grim. ¡°Senapati, the enemy¡¯s second wave is coming. They won¡¯t stop now¡ªthey know we¡¯re on our last legs.¡± Rangkabhumi surveys what¡¯s left of his men. Fewer than thirty can still fight. The rest groan in pain, receiving what little aid can be given. He lifts his gaze to the sky. The darkness remains unbroken. Dawn is still far away. And if the enemy attacks now¡ª The fortress will fall before reinforcements ever arrive. ¡°We cannot let them breach the fortress. If they do, reclaiming it will be nearly impossible. We must hold the line.¡± Silence falls over the weary soldiers¡ªnot from fear, but from grim resolve. None of them have any illusions about their chances. Yet, not a single man steps back. They are warriors of Talang Asri, ready to give their lives. Rangkabhumi exhales, scanning their faces¡ªmen bloodied, battered, yet unbroken. ¡°Listen well,¡± he says, voice steady. ¡°I have no intention of running. But if any of you wish to leave, do so now.¡± At Rangkabhumi¡¯s words, a few soldiers waver. The young ones, once so determined to sacrifice themselves, hesitate. Their minds drift to the dreams they have yet to fulfill¡ªthe loved ones waiting for them in Talang Asri. Rangkabhumi sees it in their eyes. And he smiles, not with disappointment, but with understanding. ¡°Young ones, stay inside the fortress,¡± he says, his voice firm but kind. ¡°Let me and the five commanders handle this outside.¡± ¡°Outside?¡± one of them whispers, disbelief flashing across his face. But Rangkabhumi stands unwavering, his confidence unshaken. Beside him, his five remaining commanders exchange knowing glances. They understand the situation. They know the odds. Still, they follow their general without question. Rangkabhumi exhales, scanning the bloodied ground outside the fort. So much death. So much waste. Once, when he was young, he believed war had honor. Now, he only knows its cost. 011 - The Weight of the Fallen The six warriors step beyond the fortress gates following their generals, walking toward the enemy camp with fearless strides. ¡°You think they¡¯ll see us coming?¡± a commander mutters. ¡°There¡¯s no way they¡¯re expecting this,¡± another replies. ¡°This might actually work,¡± a third says, grinning. ¡°We could cut them down before they even react.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky,¡± a more seasoned commander chimes in. ¡°You¡¯ll tire yourself out before we even get through half of them.¡± ¡°What? You doubting my kanuragan* now?¡± Rangkabhumi smirks but interrupts before the banter escalates. ¡°No sneak attacks. No tricks.¡± His tone is final. ¡°We hold them off, make them busy until Senapati Kagendra arrives. We fight them head-on.¡± His fingers tighten around his sword hilt. A ripple of energy distorts the air around the blade. The commanders tense, recognizing the technique immediately. Rangkabhumi sprints forward, his blade slicing through the night. With a single swing¡ª WHOOSH! A crescent-shaped wind blade erupts, flying fast in the air, slashing through enemy tents and tearing through Galuguh soldiers like paper. Panic spreads through the enemy camp. Bamboo alarms clatter as frightened soldiers scramble to alert the others. In the distance, a horde of men rushes toward them. Rangkabhumi, keeping his running momentum, swings again. WHOOSH! Another blade of spirit energy carves through the charging warriors, leaving only mangled bodies in its wake. One of the commanders grins. ¡°That¡¯s the Great Warrior of Mount Saringgih for you.¡± ¡°Idiot!¡± another scolds. ¡°He¡¯s burning his life force using that technique. He can¡¯t keep this up forever!¡± ¡°Then we better move fast,¡± a third growls. ¡°Let¡¯s go! Don¡¯t let him die before us!¡± *** By dawn, the cavalry from Muncar Regency finally arrives. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. At the head of the troops, not just Senapati Kagendra¡ªbut also Mahapatih* Abimana, the greatest warrior of Chakradwipa¡ªthe Supreme General whose position only second to Prabu Jayantaka himself. Unlike the others, Abimana immediately senses something is wrong. His sharp gaze locks onto the battlefield ahead. Even from a distance, he recognizes the technique being used. His blood runs cold. ¡°By the gods¡­ are there no men left in that fortress?!¡± he mutters. One of the Talang Asri boys, still inside the fort, rushes to him. ¡°Only Senapati Rangkabhumi and his five commanders are out there. They¡¯ve been fighting alone for three incense sticks*.¡± Abimana¡¯s eyes widen. Without another word, he spurs his horse forward. The other generals hesitate. It¡¯s unheard of for a leader of his rank to charge into battle before issuing orders. But Abimana understands what¡¯s happening. He knows Rangkabhumi too well. He knows his old friend is fighting with his life as the price. The battlefield is a graveyard of corpses. Rangkabhumi stands alone. Drenched in blood. His commanders are dead, their bodies scattered around him. And yet¡ª He still fights. An arrow juts from his back. Another is lodged in his right thigh. His chest is slick with blood, deep wounds carved across his torso. A broken spearhead remains buried in his stomach. But he keeps swinging. His grip on his sword never wavers. In his left hand, he clutches the banner of Chakradwipa, its crimson fabric drenched in the blood of friend and foe alike. The enemy hesitates. They should have killed him already. And yet¡ªhe¡¯s still standing. Then¡­ ¡°Rangkabhumi!!!¡± A voice echoes across the battlefield. Even without turning, Rangkabhumi knows who it is. A faint, peaceful smile touches his lips. Slowly, he drives the banner into the ground, securing it upright. And with a weak breath, he whispers, ¡°Long live Jayantaka¡­ Long live Chakradwipa¡­¡± His fingers loosen. His eyes close. And at last¡ª Blug! He drops to his knees. Abimana leaps from his horse, soaring high into the sky. WHOOSH! His blade slashes through the air, unleashing a devastating crescent of wind energy, the same Spirit Blade technique Rangkabhumi had been using toward his end. Just one swing, one crescent flying blade, the front line of Galuguh soldiers is obliterated. Abimana lands in a crouch, breathing hard. But his attention isn¡¯t on the enemy. It¡¯s on the man behind him. Rangkabhumi kneels, motionless, his hand still gripping the banner. Abimana approaches, eyes stinging. ¡°¡­How can you smile like that, brother?¡± he murmurs. A swell of pride and sorrow rises in Abimana¡¯s chest. Rangkabhumi had met his end as a warrior should¡ªhis blade unyielding, his banner planted firm in the soil of Talang Asri. He had not fallen in despair. He had entrusted his final breath to Abimana. And Abimana would not let that trust go unanswered. The moment of mourning is fleeting. His hand tightens around his sword. His body stills, his presence shifts¡ªmourning fades, leaving only fury. The Galuguh soldiers tense. They know who stands before them. ¡°That''s Abimana the Wise...¡± one enemy whispers, voice laced with unease. ¡°The strategist who wins wars before the battle even begins.¡± Another swallows hard. ¡°They say he never fights anymore¡ªhe doesn¡¯t have to.¡± But then¡ª They watch as Abimana lifts his sword. The air around him twists. The blade gleams¡ªnot just with steel, but with something more. Something deadly. Something merciless. And in that instant, they remember¡ª Before he was a Supreme General, before he was a legend, before he was Abimana the Wise¡ª He was a swordsman bathed in blood. And that swordsman is about to return, to prove his legacy once more. As panic spreads among the Galuguh troops, another sound shakes the battlefield¡ªthe thunderous charge of Chakradwipa¡¯s cavalry. At the forefront rides Senapati Kagendra, his banner whipping in the wind. The ground quakes beneath the force of galloping hooves, and fear grips the hearts of the Galuguh soldiers. ¡°Lieutenant! Order the retreat!¡± a commander shouts, his face pale. ¡°We¡¯ll be slaughtered if we stay!¡± He turns his horse, desperate to flee. However¡­ Shnk! A sharp wind cuts through the air. A severed head flies, spinning through the air. The commander¡¯s lifeless body slumps in the saddle before tumbling to the bloodstained earth. The soldiers freeze. At the heart of the battlefield stands Abimana, his sword still raised, his royal kris glinting in his left hand. He moves like a phantom, weaving through the enemy ranks. Steel flashes¡ªheads roll. Blood sprays the earth as his blade finds its mark again and again. By the time the cavalry reaches him, there is no battle left to fight. He has ended it alone. The victorious horsemen let out a thunderous cheer, their voices echoing into air welcoming the sunrise beam. But Abimana does not celebrate. His steps are slow, heavy, as he approaches the fallen warrior holding Chakradwipa¡¯s banner. His voice is thick with regret. ¡°If only we had come a moment sooner¡­¡± Despite their triumph, Abimana feels no victory. Only regret. 012 - A House That Breaths Abimana¡¯s presence alone forces the remaining enemy forces to retreat. Even Galuguh¡¯s reinforcements hesitate to advance. The next day, the name Abimana the Wise spreads like wildfire, striking fear into every kingdom across Jawadwipa. The Chakradwipa Kingdom, once peaceful, now declares war. And with swift, merciless precision¡ªwithin a single week¡ªthree Galuguh fortresses are annihilated. Not conquered. Not occupied. Destroyed. A message written in fire and blood. *** Meanwhile, in the sacred cemetery of Talang Asri, the air is thick with grief. A crowd gathers around six fresh graves¡ªRangkabhumi and his five commanders. ¡°Rangkabhumi was a hero,¡± the village chief proclaims. ¡°He gave his life so that we may live. If ever you need anything, do not hesitate to ask us.¡± Arkadevi remains silent. She offers no tears, no words of gratitude. Her face is blank, numb. She is not mourning. She is disappointed. Rangkabhumi had been gone for so long¡ªand when he finally returned, it was only to leave her forever. After the mourners leave, Arkadevi kneels before her son, brushing her fingers gently through his hair. Her voice is soft, yet firm. ¡°Remember my words, Adanu Raksa.¡± The boy looks up at her, listening intently. ¡°Do not let your desires blind you, no matter how noble your dreams. Especially when your dreams involve another¡¯s life.¡± ¡°Yes, Mom!¡± he chirps, his chest swelling with pride. Unlike Arkadevi, Adanu Raksa does not grieve. He has listened to the stories¡ªhow his father stood against an army alone, how he died a hero¡¯s death. And to him, there is no greater honor. But life does not wait for the grieving to heal. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. As night falls, darkness creeps closer. *** By the time Arkadevi returns home, the sky is bruised with twilight, the last embers of sunlight fading behind the distant hills. Adanu Raksa rushes to a place where he left his cows. On the other hand, Arkadevi simply goes straight to her house. ¡°Get back soon, Adanu Raksa! It¡¯s going to get dark.¡± ¡°Yes, Mom!¡± But then, as she steps inside the house, her body stiffens. She pauses at the doorstep, her skin prickling. The house is dark. Silent. Too silent. A shadow sits in her living room. The dim light from the hearth barely outlines his shape, but she knows who he is before his face emerges from the darkness. ¡°Bramasti?¡± He sits leisurely, one leg crossed over the other, as if he belongs there. His eyes flick up, glinting like a predator¡¯s. Arkadevi¡¯s breath hitches. She knows for sure. He has been waiting for this moment. ¡°Get out.¡± Her voice is sharp, unwavering. ¡°Leave now, or I¡¯ll call the villagers and tell them you¡¯re a thief.¡± Bramasti rises slowly, too slowly, stretching his limbs like a tiger waking from slumber. He walks toward the door, his steps casual¡ªdeceptively calm. Then¡ª Tluk! Instead of leaving, he closes the door, and locks it. Arkadevi¡¯s stomach drops. A slow grin creeps across Bramasti¡¯s face. ¡°No one¡¯s coming,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Not even your husband.¡± Something primal, something cold and ugly, spreads through Arkadevi¡¯s chest. Without thinking much, she runs. Dashing toward the kitchen, she lunges for the back door. But behind her, Bramasti laughs. A wet, slithering sound fills the air. He draws his cursed kris, stabbing it into the wooden floor. In that instant¡­ Throb! The house shudders. And then¡ª It begins to breathe. From the floorboards, something pulsates¡ªthick, veined masses of flesh bubbling up like tumors, spreading across the walls. A horrific squelch fills the air as flesh tendrils slither like living veins, crawling fast¡ªtoo fast¡ªtoward her. ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere.¡± The tendrils lash out, reaching for Arkadevi¡¯s ankles. Outside, Adanu Raksa pats his cows one last time, securing them in their byre. ¡°See you tomorrow, Bejo!¡± But then¡ª Blak! The back door bursts open. His mother comes sprinting out¡ªbarefoot, disheveled, her breath ragged, her face drained of color. ¡°Mom?¡± Adanu Raksa tilts his head. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She doesn¡¯t answer. She simply grabs his arm, her grip like iron, and pulls him away from the house. Her frantic silence is more terrifying than any scream. Adanu Raksa¡¯s heart pounds. He looks confused. But before he can voice another question¡­ Grooooo!!! A deep, inhuman growl rumbles from the depths of the house¡ªlike something massive, something ancient, stirring from its slumber. The earth quakes beneath them. A shuddering crack splinters through the ground. ¡°Kyaa!!!¡± ¡°Mom! What¡¯s happening?!¡± ¡°Hold onto the fence! NOW!¡± But the tremors grow violent¡ªthe fence posts splinter, the ground tilts beneath their feet. Then¡ª Shhlckt! From the cracked earth, slimy tendrils burst forth, wrapping around Adanu Raksa¡¯s legs. ¡°Mom! HELP ME!¡± ¡°NO! ADANU RAKSA!!!¡± Arkadevi lunges, wrapping her arms around him¡ªbut the tendrils pull harder, dragging him backward toward the house Toward the gaping maw of the darkness inside. Adanu Raksa screams, his nails digging into the dirt, desperate to crawl away. Arkadevi does the unthinkable¡ª She bites down on the tendrils. Hard. Her lips split, blood mingling with the disgusting, rubbery texture of the pulsing flesh. One by one¡ªshe tears them apart. Finally, he is free. ¡°Come quick! We need to leave!¡± But before they can run¡ª More tendrils surge from the kitchen, twisting toward them like starving serpents. ¡°KYAAAA!!!¡± ¡°Somebody! HELP US!¡± Screaming is all they can do. But their cries are drowned by earth¡¯s relentless fury. The earth trembles hard, splitting and twisting into something grotesque. The ground around the house pulses, transforming into giant, fleshy petals¡ªthrobbing, twitching, each veined surface glistening with a slick, unnatural sheen. They shudder with a sickening squelch, their movements sending deep tremors through the earth. And then¡ª They begin to close. Like the petals of a monstrous carrion flower, they fold inward, swallowing the house whole. Inside the house, the scene is nightmarish. The wooden floor is no longer wood¡ªit¡¯s covered by writhing, living flesh, slick and warm, pulsating as if it has a heartbeat. The walls stretch and twist, shifting between solidity and something disturbingly organic. The air is thick with the rancid stench of rot and blood. 013 - A Mothers Defiance Adanu Raksa dangles midair, ensnared by thick, sinewy tendrils. Two coil around his throat, tightening just enough to choke his cries into desperate gasps. His vision blurs, fear and suffocation dulling his senses. But through the haze, he sees a figure standing before him. A man. A man with a familiar grin. A grin he trusts. ¡°Teacher¡­?¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s voice cracks with relief, hope flickering in his eyes. ¡°Thank God¡­ please! Help us! There¡¯s a demon!¡± The man chuckles. A deep, throaty sound. Then¡ª Laughter. Mad. Wild. Twisting into a roar of amusement. A sick realization dawns on the boy, his heart plummeting into despair. ¡°Uncle¡­ Bramasti¡­?¡± he whispers, his voice hollow. The man doesn¡¯t answer. Instead, he turns to Arkadevi, who is bound in writhing tendrils, her body restrained, her breath ragged. With a vicious yank, Bramasti tears at the long cloth wrapped around her. The fabric rips away, leaving her vulnerable, exposed before her struggling son. Adanu Raksa thrashes violently, his small body convulsing against his restraints. ¡°NO! STOP! DON¡¯T TOUCH HER!¡± Bramasti ignores the boy¡¯s cries. His lips curl into something unnatural, his eyes alight with depraved hunger. But then¡ª Something whispers. A voice, unheard by anyone but him, slithers into his mind. Bramasti stiffens. His head tilts as if listening. Then, a slow, wicked grin stretches across his face. ¡°You want the boy?¡± he murmurs. ¡°Fine.¡± A laugh bubbles up in his throat. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°I no longer need a puppet king.¡± His voice drips with madness. ¡°Take him. Take him as an offering.¡± The air distorts. A wet, gurgling noise bubbles from beneath the floor, like an infected wound ready to burst. The flesh beneath them bulges and splits¡ª SPLURT! A thick membrane of pus and blood balloons outward, swelling¡ªgrowing¡ªuntil it suddenly bursts, splattering the walls in thick, putrid filth. A gaping, oozing maw yawns open where the rupture occurred, the stench of decay rolling out in suffocating waves. From the grotesque wound in the floor, something massive emerges. A tendril¡ªthicker than a man¡¯s torso, its surface covered in twitching veins and jagged ridges. Its tip splits open¡ªa gaping, eel-like maw lined with layers of serrated teeth. And it moves toward Adanu Raksa. Slowly. Deliberately. Saliva drips from its gullet, sizzling as it touches the floor. Adanu Raksa¡¯s body trembles uncontrollably. ¡°No¡­ no, no, NO¡ªMOM! HELP ME!!!¡± His mother thrashes against her restraints, her muffled screams of agony filling the cursed house. But the flesh around her mouth coils tighter. She cannot even beg. She can only watch. Bramasti grins, savoring the moment. He steps toward Arkadevi and tears the tendrils from her lips¡ªnot to free her. But to claim her. His tongue slithers out, tracing the edge of her lips in a mockery of affection. Adanu Raksa, half-consumed by the writhing maw, screams in fury. His small hands, still free, clench into trembling fists. ¡°LET HER GO! DON¡¯T TOUCH MY MOM!¡± Bramasti doesn¡¯t even glance at him. He chuckles, low and cruel, his fingers trailing down Arkadevi¡¯s body, savoring every moment of her torment. Arkadevi, still fighting, spits straight into his face. ¡°You filthy creature.¡± Her voice drips with venom. Bramasti wipes the spit with the back of his hand¡ªthen licks it away. ¡°Oh, Arkadevi,¡± he purrs mockingly. ¡°Take a good look at your son.¡± He grabs her jaw, forcing her head toward Adanu Raksa. ¡°Watch. Watch as the devil devours him. And then tell me¡ªwho¡¯s filthy now?¡± Tears streak down Arkadevi¡¯s face. ¡°No¡­ Please¡­¡± Her voice is hoarse. ¡°Let him go. I¡¯ll do anything. Anything! Just let my son go¡­¡± Bramasti grins wider. ¡°Anything?¡± With a sudden jerk, he rips the last of her clothing away. The tendrils join him, slithering over her bare skin. ¡°NO! NOT IN FRONT OF HIM!¡± Arkadevi cries, her entire body trembling. But Bramasti simply laughs. ¡°Heh¡­ it¡¯s too late.¡± He leans closer, his breath hot against her ear. ¡°I¡¯ve already given the boy to the Carrion Flower Devil. And you¡­¡± He presses his lips against her thigh, his breath heavy. ¡°You¡¯re already mine.¡± Arkadevi shudders, her body wracked with disgust. ¡°You¡­ you are the lowest thing to ever live,¡± she whispers, her voice shaking. ¡°You will never find peace. You can take my body, but you will never be satisfied. I curse you.¡± Bramasti simply moans in delight. ¡°The more you resist, the more excited I get.¡± But then¡ª Something wet splatters against his face. A thick, fishy-smelling fluid. He recoils, face twisting in disgust. Arkadevi watches as realization dawns in his eyes¡ª She is on her period. Bramasti retches, staggering backward. His lip curls in pure revulsion. ¡°You BITCH!!!¡± His fist crashes across her face. Arkadevi barely reacts. Instead, through swollen lips and bleeding gums, she lets out a bitter chuckle. ¡°Serve you right,¡± she spits. ¡°That¡¯s the first curse upon you. No matter what you do, you¡¯ll never take pleasure in my suffering.¡± Bramasti¡¯s fury ignites. His nails dig into her scalp, forcing her to look at Adanu Raksa. ¡°Your son is seconds away from being swallowed whole,¡± he hisses. ¡°And you¡¯re still worried about badmouthing me?!¡± Arkadevi¡¯s breathing slows. Her shoulders go still. Her eyes sharpen. And just as she is about to utter something else¡ª SPLACK! Tendrils snap over her mouth again. Bramasti wipes his face, his disgust twisting into something darker. He moves toward the kris embedded in the fleshy floor, gripping the hilt tight. Slowly, his voice lowers to a whisper. ¡°You know, Arkadevi¡­ I think I¡¯ll enjoy your pain more than your body.¡± From the cursed blade, grotesque new tendrils emerge. These are smaller, covered in tiny, snapping mouths filled with jagged teeth. They slither toward Arkadevi¡ª And begin to feast. Her body jerks, convulsing as searing pain tears through her flesh. Yet¡ªshe does not scream. She refuses. She knows Bramasti would revel in her agony, would drink in her suffering like the finest wine. So she denies him that pleasure. No screams. No pleas. Only silence. She won¡¯t let him revel in her suffering. She refuses to let her son see her in pain. Every nerve in her body burns, but she will not give him what he wants. Instead, she lifts her gaze¡ªdeadly, full of hate. Even as her body is torn apart, her defiance remains whole. And then¡ª Arkadevi meets her son¡¯s eyes. Her body is breaking, but her gaze is steady. Clear. Unyielding. Like telling something to her son. Telling she is not afraid. Telling the kid to live. 014 - Broken Bonds, New Paths Bramasti watches, his face twisted in euphoric ecstasy. ¡°Kukuku¡­ Geahahaha!!!¡± His laughter echoes through the throbbing chamber of flesh¡ªdrowned only by the monstrous growls of the thing slowly swallowing Adanu Raksa¡¯s legs. But then¡ª Something is wrong. His laughter falters, cracking into silence. Arkadevi does not scream. She does not beg. She does not break. Her face remains locked in defiance, her stare like a blade against his skin. Bramasti¡¯s grin flickers. The pleasure dims. He expects fear, expects submission¡ªexpects her to shatter beneath his cruelty. But instead¡­ she denies him. His excitement rots into frustration. His breath grows uneven. His hands clench into fists. Then, slowly, his expression fades into something hollow. Disgusted. Bored. ¡°¡­Tch. It¡¯s no fun anymore.¡± He turns his gaze away, the thrill drained from his veins. Meanwhile, the massive flesh tendril continues its slow, suffocating crawl up Adanu Raksa¡¯s body. His legs are already swallowed, his torso now ensnared in its grotesque grip. Terror has long since stolen his voice. Not when his mother is being torn apart before his very eyes. Not when he is powerless to stop it. ¡°Somebody¡­ please help my mom¡­¡± His plea is weak. Barely a whisper. And no one answers. His mind begins to crack under the horror. The weight of it is too much for a child to bear. His vision blurs, his senses dull. And then, his body surrenders. His brain shuts itself down, protecting what little sanity remains. Even as his eyes stay open, his world fades into nothingness. ¡°Hey, kid! Are you still alive?¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Bramasti pats Adanu Raksa¡¯s cheek. Even slaps him hard. But there¡¯s no response from him. Once he shifts his attention back to Arkadevi, that pitiful mother can no longer keep her hateful stare. She begins to let out lowly groan. But still¡­ There¡¯s no pain in her face. She no longer has any power to endure, not even to scream. Still twitching. But so lifeless, like a body without a soul. Bramasti feels so empty. No satisfaction. Only regret for losing his way to use Adanu Raksa to gain status and power in Chakradwipa kingdom. But¡­ ¡°Wait?¡± His attention snaps to the cursed dagger. Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can cancel the offering, and save the kid¡¯s life. ¡°I need to pull it out before it¡¯s too late.¡± Unfortunately¡­ CRASH!!! The ceiling shatters. A shadowed figure descends like a phantom, a gleaming Damascus short sword clutched in his hand¡ª JLEBS!!! The blade drives clean through Bramasti¡¯s skull. The sickening sound of metal slicing flesh and bone fills the corrupted house. Bramasti¡¯s body convulses. His fingers twitch, his lips part¡ªtoo stunned to process his own death. And then¡ª He slumps forward, lifeless. The betrayer dies in silence. No words. No last breath. Nothing. *** Despite Bramasti¡¯s death, the house still breathes. The mysterious man exhales sharply, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze sweeps over the grotesque scene before him. The writhing walls, the pulsing, slimy floor¡ª And then¡ª His stomach clenches. Arkadevi. Her mutilated body, broken and lifeless, stripped of everything¡ªof dignity, of humanity. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± He turns away before his mind can trap the image forever. But the house is no better. It is a nightmare made flesh. The walls twist, the air is thick with the stench of blood and rot. Veins pulse across the fleshy surfaces, and the grotesque tendrils writhe. His eyes then fall on the kris¡ªstill embedded in the floor, its cursed aura pulsating with malevolent energy. ¡°Let¡¯s secure this thing first.¡± He picks the sheath from Bramasti¡¯s dead body, and yanks the cursed dagger free. At once¡ª Grroooo!!! The entire house convulses. SCREAMS. The living flesh recoils. The writhing tendrils screech as they are sucked back into the ground, disappearing into the abyss from which they came. The grotesque petals outside begin to wither, their pulsating flesh turning back into lifeless earth. They collapse, sinking back into the soil, taking with them every trace of the nightmare. Inside the house, the grotesque and nasty fleshes slowly retreat to where they come from. The mysterious man approaches his sword stuck in Bramasti¡¯s head. But before retrieving the sword, his attention shifts to something else. The boy. Adanu Raksa, still half-swallowed by the dying tendril, his blank eyes staring at nothing. ¡°No way¡­ Don¡¯t tell me¡ª¡± The man curses, gripping the hilt of his Damascus sword. Without hesitation, he rips it from Bramasti¡¯s corpse, sending blood and brain matter spilling onto the floor. He swings. Crash! The massive tendril is severed in one clean stroke before it manages to pull Adanu Raksa into the abyss. The man stares down at him, heart pounding. The boy¡¯s face is pale, his lips slightly parted¡ªhis breath so shallow, it is almost undetectable. Then¡ª A cough. ¡°Oh, shit! He¡¯s still alive?!¡± He kneels, slapping the boy¡¯s cheek lightly. ¡°Hey, kid! You still in there? Wake up!¡± Adanu Raksa¡¯s eyes flutter slightly¡ª ¡°¡­Mom!¡± Then close again. But he is breathing. The man sighs in relief, but there is no time to relax. The sky is darkening. But people will come. They will find this place. And if they see him standing over the ruins, holding the boy? They will assume he is the one who did this. Without another second of hesitation, he lifts Adanu Raksa onto his shoulder. With a swift leap, he disappears into the hole he created on the roof. He moves swiftly through the dense jungle, leaping from branch to branch with practiced ease. Despite the extra weight on his shoulder, his movements remain fluid, precise. ¡°Cough, cough!¡± ¡°Hanging in there, kid! You can¡¯t die here! There¡¯s still so many good things in this life.¡± By midnight, he reaches the southern border of Chakradwipa. A journey that would take peasants more than two full days on foot¡ªhe has made in mere hours. He does not stop. He climbs higher, ascending the slopes of Mount Sangkala, where only outlaws dare to tread. And finally¡ª He arrives. A secluded settlement of stilt houses, six in total, hidden deep within the forest. As he lands, several men immediately unsheathe their swords, their eyes flashing with suspicion. ¡°Who the hell are you?!¡± one of them demands, blade poised at the man¡¯s throat. The man exhales. He pulls back his hood, revealing a sharp, charismatic face under the moonlight. Recognition dawns. ¡°Boss?!¡± ¡°Cakara! Where the hell have you been?!¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been looking for you for a week!¡± These are no ordinary villagers. They are mountain bandits. And the man who just saved Adanu Raksa¡ªthe name is Cakara, the leader. One of the bandits named Hasya, a wiry kid with a bow slung over his shoulder, scowls as he steps forward. ¡°Oi, Cakara,¡± he sneers. ¡°Whose brat is that? Don¡¯t tell me we¡¯ve gone from robbing nobles to kidnapping kids.¡± Cakara ignores him. He strides toward the largest house, his voice cuts through the night. ¡°Stop asking stupid questions!¡± His men go silent. Even the boldest of them flinch. ¡°This kid has a fever. Prepare some warm water¡ªand take it to my room!¡± Hasya raises an eyebrow. He doesn¡¯t know who the kid is. But Cakara has never looked this serious before. 015 - Feast Hasya''s expression twists with irritation as he watches Cakara walk away. His hands curl into fists, frustration boiling beneath his skin. Then¡ª Smack! A firm slap lands on the back of his head. Hasya flinches, spinning around with a glare. ¡°What the hell?!¡± Behind him stands Agra, the oldest in their group, two years Cakara¡¯s senior. He smirks, dripping with condescension. ¡°What are you standing around for? Prepare the damn water like the boss ordered.¡± Hasya scowls. ¡°He didn¡¯t say my name. Why the hell do I have to do it?¡± Smack! Another slap. ¡°You little runt.¡± Agra snaps. ¡°Just because the boss treats you well, you think you''re his right-hand man? Be grateful we let you stay.¡± Hasya clicks his tongue. Without another word, he stomps off toward a small hut, muttering under his breath. Inside the hut, he sets a clay pot of water onto a crude clay-built stove. Then¡­ He just sits there. Staring. Waiting. Doing nothing. The firewood beneath the pot remains unlit. But his mind drifts to the strange child Cakara brought back. Adanu Raksa. He looks around Hasya¡¯s age¡ªmaybe younger. But everything about him is different. Smooth skin, unscarred face. Delicate hands, untouched by hardship. Clothes dirtied, but finer than anything Hasya has ever worn. ¡°A noble¡¯s son?¡± He lips curl slightly. His hands clench around his knees. Why had Cakara gone out of his way to save a brat like that? A surge of envy knots in his chest. Until then¡ª Srrk! A sound jolts him from his thoughts. A figure looms behind him. Startled, Hasya grabs a nearby machete and swings¡ª The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Dpp! A hand catches the blade effortlessly¡ªbetween two fingers. Hasya freezes. His eyes dart upward, meeting the amused gaze of Yodha, the group¡¯s largest and most easygoing member. ¡°Whoa there, kid.¡± Yodha chuckles. ¡°What¡¯s with the hostility?¡± Hasya exhales sharply, lowering the blade. ¡°Damn it, Yodha! How many times do I have to tell you¡ªstop sneaking up on me!¡± Yodha smirks. ¡°Sneaking? I walked in plain sight, and you still panicked.¡± Hasya clicks his tongue, turning away. ¡°Whatever.¡± Yodha pats his shoulder, his grip heavy. ¡°Relax. No one in the Band of the Enchanted Dagger wants to rape you.¡± Hasya stiffens. His grip tightens around the machete. ¡°Shut up! How can you say that with that bandit face of yours?!¡± Yodha laughs heartily, then gestures at the stove. ¡°How¡¯s the water coming?¡± Hasya mutters, still glaring at the floor. ¡°Not yet.¡± Yodha hums and crouches beside him. The two sit in silence. Watching the pot. Waiting. ¡­ Then¡ª Yodha blinks. Frowns. His expression twists in confusion. ¡°¡­Wait.¡± Hasya looks up. ¡°What?¡± Yodha turns to him, deadpan. ¡°Did you light the fire?¡± Hasya¡¯s stomach drops. His eyes dart to the stove. The twigs. Cold. Unlit. Untouched. ¡°SHIT!!!¡± He scrambles, grabbing the flint and striking it furiously. Sparks flicker¡ªbut don¡¯t catch. ¡°Damn it! Why didn¡¯t you say something sooner?!¡± he snaps. ¡°You didn¡¯t even notice it yourself?!¡± Yodha argues. Outside, Agra¡¯s voice cuts through the night. ¡°OI! WHERE¡¯S THE DAMN WATER?!¡± Hasya flinches. His panic triples. Yodha sighs. ¡°Move aside.¡± Hasya scoots back as Yodha picks up a twig, pressing his fingers into it. ¡°It¡¯s still damp. You forgot to dry the firewood¡ªagain.¡± With a sigh, Yodha closes his eyes. Then, sweat beads on his forehead as the twig vibrates slightly. Wisps of steam curl from its surface, moisture evaporating. Hasya watches, unimpressed. ¡°You¡¯re using your kanuragan* just to dry a twig?¡± ¡°Easier than waiting,¡± Yodha mutters, moving on to another damp twig. Hasya frowns. ¡°Then why not just heat the damn water with your hands?¡± Yodha exhales, looking drained. ¡°My kanuragan isn¡¯t strong enough to heat that much water.¡± Hasya rolls his eyes. Finally, with dry twigs, he strikes the flint again¡ªthis time, the fire catches. They wait, the flames crackling softly beneath the pot. Moments later, Yodha nods. ¡°Should be hot enough.¡± Not wasting another second, Hasya grabs the pot and rushes out, Yodha following close behind. But then, the moment they reacheCakara¡¯s room¡ª CRASH! The pot slips from Hasya¡¯s hands. Clay shatters against the floor. He doesn¡¯t flinch. His body locks up in pure terror. Something is clinging to Adanu Raksa¡¯s leg. Three spirit creatures. Their grotesque, malformed faces contort in pleasure as they latch onto the boy¡¯s limb, their translucent bodies pulsing with a sickly glow. Yodha¡¯s grip tightens around his sword. He swings again¡ªbut same result. No impact. No resistance. ¡°Hasya!¡± he barks. ¡°Go get Cakara!¡± No response. Hasya is still kneeling, frozen in horror, eyes locked onto the writhing spirits. Then suddenly¡ª Wuuuu! The walls groan. From the small gaps between the wooden planks, thick white mist begins to seep through. More spirits. Malevolent. Hungry. Dozens of them. Their sunken eyes gleam with unnatural hunger as they slither into the room, their whispers merging into a chorus of madness. ¡°A feast¡­¡± ¡°Our first in hundreds of years¡­!¡± Their ghastly forms twist and coil, drawn like moths to a flame. The mist thickens. The air grows thin, like the room itself is suffocating. The spirits do not speak in full sentences. They murmur, half-finished thoughts, slipping between languages long forgotten. ¡°So long¡­ so long¡­¡± ¡°The hunger¡­¡± ¡°The feast¡­¡± Their eyes, black pits, lock onto Adanu Raksa. ¡°¡­Mine.¡± ¡°¡­Mine.¡± Drawn to the boy lying unconscious on the bamboo-woven bed. To the cursed energy spilling from his broken soul. ¡°What are these things? Where did they come from?¡± More malevolent spirits approach the house, seeping into the small gaps on the wooden wall. On their way to the kid, a few of them latch onto Yodha, their incorporeal forms slipping into his body like mist. Yodha¡¯s sword trembles in his grip. No resistance. No impact. The spirits pass through like smoke. His hands grow numb. A cold voice whispers into his skull. << You are not the one we desire. But we will take you anyway. >> A searing pain explodes in his skull. Yodha grits his teeth, clutching his head as the invading spirits dig into his mind, draining his life force with each passing second. ¡°Yodha!¡± Hasya¡¯s voice shakes with fear. ¡°Go quickly!¡± Yodha growls, his knees buckling under the mental assault. ¡°I can¡¯t do anything against these veil creatures. Bring Cakara here¡ª¡± His words cut off. A strangled groan escapes him as his vision darkens. His body convulses, his strength fading until he finally collapses. Hasya watches in horror. His breath comes in short, uneven gasps. His legs refuse to move. ¡°Cakara¡­¡± he barely whispers, frozen in place. A moment later¡ª A hand grabs the back of his clothes and yanks him off the ground. ¡°Get the fuck out of the way, you coward!¡± Hasya barely has time to react before he¡¯s thrown aside, crashing against the wall. He gasps, winded. His vision swims. The man who tossed him aside¡ªAgra. Behind him, three more bandits storm into the room, blades drawn, faces twisted with fury. They charge forward like lions ready to pounce. But the moment they see what lurks inside¡­ They freeze. Their bravado dies in an instant. ¡°¡­What the hell is this?¡± One of them gasps. Agra, the oldest among them¡ªthe man whose arrogance once filled every room¡ªnow stands silent. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. His grip tightens around his sword, knuckles white. But no matter how hard he wills his body to move¡­ The tip of his blade trembles. For the first time in his life, he doesn¡¯t know if swinging it will make a difference. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± Dozens of ghastly figures swirl above Adanu Raksa. Ignoring the bandits¡¯ present, their translucent bodies pulsate with eerie light. One spirit, larger than the rest, drifts closer to the boy. Its face¡ªtwisted, hollow¡ªcontorts into something almost reverent. ¡°At last¡­ A feast after hundreds of years.¡± 016 - Whispering Blade The air is thick with whispers, guttural and hungry. Hasya sees the color drain from Agra¡¯s face. The three men hesitate near the doorway, their hands trembling over their weapons. One of them suddenly spots Yodha¡¯s lifeless body sprawled on the floor. ¡°Shit¡ªYodha!¡± Without thinking, he rushes inside. The other two follow, slashing wildly at the spirits, trying to drive them away. But they barely last a few seconds. The moment the spirits touch them, they collapse just like Yodha. Their bodies crumple, their strength completely drained. Agra, still near the door, doesn¡¯t move. Sweat trickles down his temple. He wants to run. But his legs refuse to obey. One of the spirits floats past him, its hollow gaze empty and cold. Panicked, Agra swings his sword instinctively¡ª Shnk! The blade slices through air. But the spirit doesn¡¯t even acknowledge him. It looks hypnotized by Adanu Raksa¡¯s present. Agra stares at his useless weapon, his hands trembling. ¡°They¡­ they¡¯re ghosts,¡± he whispers, his voice barely audible. ¡°We can¡¯t hurt them¡­¡± A wave of dread churns in his gut. On the other hand, Hasya clenches his jaw, forcing himself to move past his fear. His fists tighten. ¡°Do something, damn it!¡± he snaps. Then¡ª A strong arm wraps around him from behind, pulling him back. Hasya yelps in surprise¡ª Only to find Cakara standing behind him. ¡°Easy.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His voice is calm, steady¡ªcompletely unfazed. Hasya turns to face him, eyes pleading. ¡°Cakara! Yodha and the others¡ª¡± ¡°They¡¯ll be fine,¡± Cakara reassures, offering a calm, almost lazy smile. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t get too close to those spirits, they won¡¯t hurt you.¡± Hasya hesitates. His fear doesn¡¯t disappear, but there¡¯s something in Cakara¡¯s voice¡ªa quiet confidence¡ªthat makes him trust the leader. Cakara releases him and steps forward. With deliberate ease, he draws his weapon¡ªa short Damascus black sword, its surface etched with intricate, ancient patterns. He watches the spirits for a moment, then swings. Shnk! The blade cuts clean through the misty figures. But nothing happens. The spirits remain untouched. Still ignoring their present. ¡°So it¡¯s true¡­¡± Cakara mutters, adjusting his grip. ¡°Normal attacks won¡¯t work.¡± His eyes glint with curiosity. ¡°Then let¡¯s see if this will.¡± Cakara tightens his grip, inhaling sharply as he forces his spirit energy into the blade. The sword trembles, resisting¡ªhis arms ache, his pulse pounds. Slowly, white plasma-like aura flickers, unstable, wavering. The energy shifts, solidifying around the blade¡¯s edge. Then¡ª He swings. Shhhnk! The sword cleaves through the spirits. And they scream. Their twisted, malformed faces contort in agony as their bodies begin to disintegrate, unraveling into wisps of nothingness. Cakara smirks. ¡°It¡¯s working.¡± Agra, watching in stunned silence, grips his sword and swings again. But sadly, nothing happens. And his face is immediately clouded with confusion. ¡°Hey, Cakara. How did you¡­¡± Cakara barely has time to react before the remaining spirits turn toward him¡ª And snarl. ¡°You lowly human¡­¡± ¡°How dare you ruin our feast?!¡± ¡°You have no idea how long we¡¯ve waited for this!!!¡± They swarm him. ¡°Oh, shiiit!¡± Cakara steps back, instinctively yanks Agra backward while swinging his sword around. But¡ª Pain sears through his right arm. The spirits¡¯ touch leeches his energy. His fingers go numb. His sword slips from his grasp. ¡°My arm¡­!¡± Cakara grimaces. ¡°Forget about that kid!¡± Agra snaps. ¡°We need to get out of here! I don¡¯t know where you found him, but I bet these things came for him!¡± Cakara¡¯s gaze flickers to Adanu Raksa. Those spirits cling back to his leg, their mouths latched onto his skin, feeding. Something is wrong with them. So wrong. But before Cakara can think¡ª A spirit lunges. Cornered, he reaches for his waist. Shnk! A blade flashes. Not his sword¡ª The kris. The Devil¡¯s Kris. Without exerting any energy, Cakara slashes¡ª And the spirit lets out an ear-piercing shriek. Kyaaaa! A violent shudder ripples through the air as the spirit¡¯s form cracks¡ªsplinters¡ªthen disappears. The entire room falls into a stunned silence. The other spirits stiffen, noticing danger, far more terrifying then their own presence. Then, panic erupts. ¡°The Devil¡¯s Kris¡­!¡± ¡°H-how did he get that cursed blade?!¡± ¡°He wields it¡ªwith ease!¡± Cakara¡¯s fingers tighten around the dagger¡¯s hilt. His gaze narrows. Curiosity creeps inside him. And then¡­ The spirits scramble, scattering around in chaos. ¡°No! This must be a trap! The devil is toying with us!¡± ¡°Forget the boy! He¡¯s not worth it!¡± ¡°Run! Run before he offers us to the abyss instead!!!¡± The once-ravenous spirits flee, their whispers turning into wails of terror. They go from ravenous predators to terrified prey. And within moments¡ª They are gone. Leaving only the unconscious boy behind. Cakara blinks in confusion. The fear on their twisted faces¡ªwas it directed at him? No¡­ It¡¯s something else. His gaze lowers to the dagger in his grasp. Its cold metal hums against his palm, pulsing with an unnatural presence. Then¡ª A voice slithers into his mind. It sounds like his own, yet he knows it isn¡¯t. << Name your wish. Offer the boy as sacrifice, and I shall make your dreams reality. >> Cakara suddenly feels a split-second hallucination, feeling his own desires whisper back at him. His vision blurs, his fingers twitch involuntarily. As a surge of possibilities dawn on him, his eyes slowly drift toward Adanu Raksa. A stillness overtakes him. For a fleeting moment, the world around him fades. Then¡ª A hand grips his arm. ¡°Cakara! What¡¯s wrong?¡± Hasya¡¯s voice is urgent, shaking him roughly. Cakara¡¯s eyelids flutter. ¡°¡­Huh?¡± Hasya looks at him, face filled with worry. ¡°You just froze. Anyway, didn¡¯t you feel it? They were afraid of you.¡± ¡°They weren¡¯t afraid of Cakara.¡± Agra¡¯s voice cuts in¡ªeyes sharp, fixated on the weapon in Cakara¡¯s grasp. ¡°They were afraid of that thing,¡± he mutters darkly. The words send a ripple through the group. Several men at the doorway stiffen, their gazes locked onto the dagger with a mix of awe and unease. Cakara sees the shift in their expressions¡ªthe barely contained greed flashing across their faces. For a while, he has been aware of an unsettling power emanating from the dagger. And now, a new fear grips him. Fear that the others have sensed it too. Fear that his men might be feeling the same creeping temptation. The same urge. The same desire¡ªto claim the dagger for themselves. 017 - The Weight of a Kings Dagger Clearly, those bandits¡¯ expressions have drastically changed. Cakara can even sense the murderous intent in their eyes. So, he acts. Calmly, he slides the dagger back into its sheath. As if a spell is lifted, the tension in the room changes instantly. ¡°That kris¡­¡± ¡°Cakara, isn¡¯t that¡ª¡± ¡°The king¡¯s royal dagger?¡± ¡°How the hell did you get it?¡± Mere moments ago, their eyes had gleamed with something dangerous. Now, they swarm around him with excitement, their voices filled with admiration instead of envy. ¡°Holy hell, it¡¯s real!¡± ¡°The dagger of the kings! They say whoever wields it is destined for greatness.¡± ¡°I heard Prabu Jayantaka himself forged the Chakradwipa Kingdom after obtaining one just like this!¡± Cakara smiles, but inside, his thoughts are elsewhere. This was precisely the kind of power he had sought. This was why he had gathered these thugs¡ªmen cast aside by the world, just like him, man born as mere peasant. Unlike the others, he is not content living as a mere outlaw. He dreams of something greater. He likes to carve his own kingdom into existence¡ªone where all men stand equal, free from the chains of noble blood and castes. Cakara exhales, his resolve hardening. ¡°I saw it myself.¡± Agra narrows his eyes, curious. ¡°Saw what?¡± ¡°The ritual,¡± Cakara replies. His voice is steady, yet his fingers twitch slightly as he recalls the sight. ¡°Someone summoned the Carrion Flower Devil. I saw the demon myself.¡± A heavy silence falls over the group. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Cakara turns to Adanu Raksa, his face shadowed in thought. ¡°And this boy¡­ I believe he was the offering.¡± A heavy silence settles over the group. They gulp, bodies tense. Their eyes follow Cakara¡¯s, all of them staring at the unconscious child, imagining the terror the boy must have experienced. And soon, a shudder passes through the men. ¡°What kind of monster sacrifices a child to the devil?¡± one mutters. ¡°How did you get him out?¡± another asks. Cakara smirks. ¡°I climbed the devil itself, fought my way inside, killed the summoner, and stole this dagger.¡± Gasps of disbelief ripple through the group. But then¡ª Cakara¡¯s smirk fades. Something isn¡¯t right. Something is odd with the ritual and Adanu Raksa¡¯s situation. For a demon to grant a contract, the summoner must offer something of great personal value. A piece of their own. A treasure they cherish. Cakara¡¯s fingers tighten around the sheath of the dagger. A sick realization dawns in his mind. That one man whose skull he crushed with his sword¡­ ¡°Was he the boy¡¯s father?¡± Cakara mutters under his breath. ¡°What?¡± Hasya asks. Cakara doesn¡¯t answer. Then¡ª A weak, delirious voice fills the air. Adanu Raksa stirs in his fevered sleep, shaking his head, whimpering. His breath comes in panicked gasps. ¡°¡­Mom¡­¡± The men stiffen. Adanu Raksa''s weak cries turn frantic. ¡°No¡­ let her go¡­ don¡¯t hurt her¡­¡± Then¡ª His body jerks. His expression twists in rage. ¡°You devil! I¡¯ll kill you!!!¡± Silence emerges. A heavy, suffocating silence. Cakara swallows hard, eyes wide. ¡°¡­Oh, God.¡± His voice is barely a whisper. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡­¡± Hasya tugs at his sleeve. ¡°What?¡± Cakara exhales shakily. ¡°That bastard¡­ he sacrificed his own son to the devil¡ªjust to torment his wife.¡± A wave of disgust ripples through the group. Agra scoffs. ¡°Bullshit. Who the hell would use a sacred dagger to summon the Carrion Flower Devil for something so trivial?¡± Then¡ª His hand moves. Steel flashes. A sword rises. ¡°One thing for sure, this kid is cursed.¡± And in the next instant¡ª Agra brings his sword down¡ªstraight for Adanu Raksa¡¯s head. The others watch with detached indifference, their expressions flat, unreadable. None of them care what happens to Adanu Raksa. But Cakara does. His eyes widen as he sees Agra¡¯s sword descending. Without hesitation¡ª BAM! A thunderous impact. Cakara¡¯s palm slams into Agra¡¯s back with crushing force. ¡°GAAHCK!!!¡± The force is so overwhelming that blood bursts from Agra¡¯s mouth as he is launched across the room. Agra is flung hard. His body crashes into the wooden wall¡ª CRACK! The wall shatters. Splinters explode into the air. Silence. All eyes lock onto Agra¡¯s crumpled form. Some of Cakara¡¯s men flinch. Others simply stare in stunned confusion. Hasya, standing closest, tenses in alarm, glancing between Cakara and Agra¡¯s motionless body. For a moment, nobody moves. Then¡ª ¡°Cough! Cough, cough¡ªptuh!¡± Agra spits blood onto the dirt floor, groaning as he writhes in pain. His face twists in disbelief. ¡°What the fuck was that for?!¡± he chokes out, clutching his ribs. ¡°You put that much power into a cheap shot to my back¡ªyou trying to kill me?¡± Cakara exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. Truthfully, he hadn¡¯t meant to hit Agra that hard. But Agra¡¯s sword had been inches away from splitting Adanu Raksa¡¯s skull. He had no choice. ¡°You¡¯ll live,¡± Cakara says coolly. ¡°And I¡¯m not letting you kill the kid.¡± Agra glares at him, his bloodied lips curling in rage. ¡°You bastard. You went that far just to protect him? Are you out of your goddamn mind? That kid is cursed! He¡¯ll bring nothing but disaster to us!¡± Cakara¡¯s expression remains unreadable. ¡°I¡¯m the boss,¡± he says evenly. ¡°If you don¡¯t like it, you can leave.¡± With that, he turns his back on Agra and strides toward the door. ¡°Hasya,¡± he calls without looking back. ¡°Get warm water and treat the kid¡¯s fever.¡± Hasya hesitates. ¡°What about Yodha and the others?¡± He gestures toward the unconscious men scattered on the floor. ¡°They¡¯ll be fine after a night¡¯s sleep.¡± And with that, Cakara steps out into the night. Agra, still struggling to his feet, watches him go, his face twisted in frustration. His fingers curl into fists, his chest heaving. Then¡ª With a growl, he whirls around and slams his fist into the broken wall, sending more splinters flying. Without another word, he stalks off into the darkness.