The Bodyguard : The Returning God of War

Mahatara City Station.

A long whistle sounded as the train slowly entered the platform. The screech of steel wheels grinding against the rails echoed throughout the station, followed by the rumble of footsteps as the crowd began moving toward the exit.

The train doors opened.

Passengers pushed their way out, carrying suitcases and large bags. The air was filled with a faint smell of sweat. Amid the crowd, a young man stepped down calmly while dragging a bag that already looked worn.

He wore a simple white T-shirt, faded green military-patterned pants, and military boots. His appearance was ordinary, but his upright posture made him stand out among the people passing by.

Arka Mahendra paused on the platform, his eyes sweeping across the surroundings.

“Mahatara....”

It had been a long time since he had last set foot in this city.

Seven years ago, he had left under the cover of darkness for a battlefield that was never recorded. Now he had returned alone, carrying wounds invisible to the eye.

Arka Mahendra, a former member of the Garuda Fang Special Forces Unit, had once been the most outstanding soldier in his unit. During the final mission in the Shadow Zone, he had led from the front lines to buy time for his comrades to retreat. The mission had succeeded, but his body could no longer endure the intensity of special operations.

In the end, he was forced to retire. The compensation he received was substantial, but the sense of guilt remained. Especially toward the only family member waiting for him to come home.

Arka Mahendra followed the flow of people toward the exit. His thoughts returned to their last conversation. The old man's voice had sounded weak, yet he had still insisted that Arka not worry about home.

A harsh shout suddenly rang out near the exit.

“Damn it! Are you blind?!”

Arka Mahendra turned his head.

Several flashy-looking men were surrounding a thin man carrying a large amount of luggage. From his appearance, he looked like a migrant worker who had just arrived in the city.

“S-sorry... it's too crowded here,” the man said nervously.

“Sorry, you say?!” barked a burly man as he grabbed the man's collar. “I just bought these expensive shoes. Do you know how much they cost? Even your life wouldn't be enough to pay for them!”

The people nearby immediately moved away. No one wanted to get involved.

Arka Mahendra frowned slightly. He really did not want to cause trouble. He had just returned and only wanted to go home peacefully. However, seeing the fear in the man's eyes, his steps unconsciously came to a halt.

“Let him go.”

His voice was not loud, but it was clearly heard.

The burly man turned around and looked Arka Mahendra up and down before sneering. “Where did this self-righteous hero come from? Mind your own business.”

Arka Mahendra did not answer. He simply walked forward calmly.

Seeing his attitude, one of the thugs immediately threw a punch toward his face. However, before the fist could reach its target, Arka Mahendra had already moved. He caught the man's wrist and twisted it lightly.

“ARGHHH...!”

The man immediately screamed in pain and bent over.

“You've got a death wish!” another shouted as he charged forward.

Arka Mahendra's gaze turned cold. He did not even put down the bag in his hand. His movements were swift and precise.

Bang!

A side kick slammed into the stomach of the blond-haired man, sending him flying backward into a pillar. The next punch struck the neck of another man who tried to attack from the side.

Within a few seconds, it was over. The thugs who had been making a scene moments ago were now lying on the floor groaning.

“BASTARD!” the burly man shouted. “I'll kill you!”

The burly man pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Arka Mahendra.

However, before he could pull the trigger, Arka Mahendra was already standing in front of him. “Leave, or die.”

His voice was calm, yet it was enough to make the burly man freeze in place. His body trembling, he dropped the pistol in his hand and quickly turned around to flee.

The surrounding crowd fell silent.

Arka Mahendra walked over to the migrant worker and said briefly, “It's safe now. You can go.”

“T-thank you, Sir!” The man bowed repeatedly before hurrying away.

Without paying attention to the gazes around him, Arka Mahendra picked up his bag and walked out of the station.

The summer sun of Mahatara burned against his face. Tall buildings stood closely packed together, vehicles filled the roads, and the noise of the city rang in his ears. Everything felt different from the forests, swamps, and gunfire that had once been part of his daily life.

He took a deep breath.

Arka Mahendra hailed a taxi and gave an address in the old district. The vehicle slowly merged into traffic. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

His grandfather's face appeared in his mind. Right now, he only wanted to go home.

***

The taxi stopped in an old alley.

Arka Mahendra got out with his bag and looked at the row of old buildings that remained familiar in his memory. Peeling walls, rusted iron bars, and the damp air characteristic of an aging neighborhood welcomed him. Yet the closer he got to home, the heavier his steps became. An uneasy feeling slowly crept into his chest.

The front door was tightly shut.

He took out his key, opened the door, and the smell of dampness mixed with medicine immediately assaulted him.

“Grandpa, I'm home.”

His voice echoed through the silent living room, but there was no response.

The room looked clean, but several glasses of water had been left on the table. Beside them was a small opened package of cheap painkillers. Arka Mahendra's heart tightened. He quickly walked toward his grandfather's room.

The door opened.

The bed was empty, the blanket folded neatly into a rigid square, the same military style that had never changed for decades. He immediately called his grandfather's phone number. The call never connected. It was obvious that the phone was turned off.

This time, true panic finally surfaced. He dropped his bag where he stood and rushed outside before knocking on the neighbor's door.

The door opened, revealing Mrs. Ratih, the longtime neighbor who had watched him grow up since childhood. Her face briefly brightened when she saw him, but her expression quickly became complicated.

“Arka... you've come back...” she said softly before letting out a long sigh.

“What happened to my grandfather?” Arka Mahendra's voice remained calm, but his tone tightened.

“Your grandfather has been sick for a long time. His coughing kept getting worse, sometimes to the point where he could barely breathe,” Mrs. Ratih said. “All of us told him to go to the hospital, but he refused. He said it was only an old illness. He also said that a soldier like him had no right to burden the country, and he didn't want to spend the money you earned by risking your life.”

Those words struck Arka Mahendra without a sound. He immediately understood. His grandfather knew how dangerous his work was. The old man was afraid of disturbing his grandson, and even more afraid that the money Arka Mahendra had earned through hardship would be spent on him.

The resolve of a veteran had turned into a painful stubbornness.

Arka Mahendra's nose stung. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. “Where is he now?”

“Last night his coughing became so severe that he nearly fainted. We finally called an ambulance. He's at Mahatara Medika Hospital now...”

The sentence was not even finished when Arka Mahendra had already sprinted down the stairs.