Mag-log inJava, 1586. The martial world is thrown into chaos when a string of brutal murders claims some of its most powerful masters. The killer leaves behind a chilling signature, calling himself Pangeran Langit, the Prince of the Sky. Elsewhere, another predator stalks the land. A bringer of death known only as Tanpa Aran, Nameless. Freshly returned to the Sultanate of Pasir after wandering the eastern territories, Wisnumurti finds himself racing against time to stop both killers before their trail of blood reaches his homeland, Mount Cakrabuana. But his mission unravels when Jaladri—eager for a taste of adventure—is abducted by Suwung Saketi and Remak, two deranged martial artists with a horrifying appetite for cooking and eating human flesh. As the world teeters on the brink of disaster with the rise of a terrifying devil-worshiping sect, Wisnumurti and his companions are drawn into a deadly conspiracy rooted in a blood-soaked past. Secrets long buried begin to surface, dragging countless lives into their wake. If they fail to uncover the truth before it's too late, Pasir will descend into slaughter once again—and become the perfect hunting ground for those Darkness worshippers.
view more“This just got interesting, didn’t it? Especially because we already know exactly who’s around you that could’ve trained you in martial arts. There’s Bajul. Ki Gede. Pratiwi. If any of them thought you had talent and wanted to help, they’d simply call you over—or better yet, drag you into a sparring match. So why all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense? Who was that man? Why did he choose you instead of Bajul?”“And you don’t feel anything unusual now, do you?” Bajul asked. “Because that kick from the Senopati wasn’t meant to scare you. It was meant to cripple you. I honestly thought you were dead. At the very least, unconscious for a week. But you’re walking around like nothing happened.”Jaladri rubbed the spot on his chest where Natpada’s foot had landed.“It hurt right here for a minute. I couldn’t breathe for a little while. Then... it just went away. I’m fine now.”“It was Senopati Natpada who took the real beating,” Wisnumurti said. “He’s probably still seeing stars. He flew halfway
The bedroom door opened.Wisnumurti stepped inside, yawning. He shut the door behind him.Jaladri and Bajul, already stretched out on the wide wooden platform bed, immediately sat up. Both had been ready to sleep, wrapped in the sarongs Ki Soma had packed for them before they left home.“I thought you were planning to stay up until dawn,” Jaladri said, yawning as well.“Ki Buyut and the others certainly hoped so,” Wisnumurti replied as he removed his lower garment and pulled a sarong from his travel bundle. “They love it whenever a martial artist passes through. Those old men can talk all night about anything—ghost sightings, haunted places, strange happenings.”Jaladri leaned against the bamboo wall. Truth be told, he was no different. As long as Wisnumurti was telling stories, he could stay awake until sunrise without complaint.“So it’s true?” he asked. “Senopati Natpada was actually going to have Sarni’s family beheaded just because Sarni was sick? I heard Ki Rantang talking about
The young village girl was almost certainly the latest beauty Prince Candrakumala had decided to add to his collection of concubines. Perhaps one of his men had heard about her while passing through villages like Brabo and carried the story back to him. The prince became interested, and now his senopati had arrived to collect her.As a wanderer, Wisnumurti had seen scenes like this far too many times. Normally, he would have stayed out of it. The affairs of royalty were dangerous ground.The problem this time was the violence. He understood exactly why Jaladri had nearly exploded moments earlier. They had just come from two villages where infants and toddlers lay butchered among the dead. Seeing a baby tumble from her mother’s arms after three armed men shoved her to the ground was enough to send anyone’s blood pressure through the roof.Perhaps the family had shown less than perfect obedience. Perhaps the girl herself had resisted. It was only natural. She was about to be taken from
They moved quickly. Wisnumurti took hold of Jaladri’s horse while Bajul swiftly lowered the wounded man to the ground.“The same throat wound?” Wisnumurti asked.“Exactly the same,” Jaladri replied. “This man probably wasn’t in the village when it happened. He must have run into the aftermath and tried to escape. The other injuries are different. Maybe a tiger got him. Or a wild boar.”Wisnumurti and Bajul crouched beside the man, who looked about the same age as Ki Soma. He lay unconscious, drenched in blood. Deep gashes covered his chest, stomach, even his neck. The wounds certainly looked like the work of a wild animal.He had lost far too much blood. There was no saving him.But he was still alive.His chest rose and fell in ragged, desperate breaths, every inhale a battle against pain that must have been unbearable. Ordinary people—those without the heavy physical training as soldiers or martial artists—often died not from the wounds themselves, but because their bodies simply su
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