Twelve

“Oh, that was just an alias. His real name isn’t Jalung.”

Wisnumurti lowered himself onto the spotless marble floor across from the low table and fixed his gaze on Ki Gede Nipir.

“So Jalung was just a fake name? Then who is he really?”

“Sembada. Headmaster of Tirta Maruta School—the dice gambler. He used to be Randu Alas’s fellow disciple back in Kalibening.”

After an enjoyable lunch of spiced rice and Kenipir’s famous smoked fish, Wisnumurti had followed Ki Gede Nipir into the man’s private study in one corner of the main house. Jaladri was still outside chatting with Pratiwi and Nyai Gede. Bajul, mindful of his place, had joined Ki Gede Nipir’s servants and guards shortly after lunch.

“Then why bother using an alias?”

Tirta Maruta was a small martial arts school in Kajoran, one of Karang Bendan’s district towns. It lay northeast of Kenipir, nestled against the cool slopes of the Dieng Highlands, where the air stayed chilly year-round.

“Someone’s hunting him,” Ki Gede Nipir replied. “Someone who wants him dead. Sembada told me that a few days ago, a man came to see him carrying the severed heads and dismembered bodies of several of his disciples. The man said someone demanded Sembada’s life next—and that he’d end up just like them. Terrified, he fled here and asked for my protection. On the journey, he introduced himself as Ki Jalung, a pottery merchant, so no one would recognize him.”

“He’s a formidable martial artist. Why would a death threat scare him that badly?”

“I don’t know,” Ki Gede admitted. “It feels connected to something far more serious. But what? Sembada’s addicted to gambling. I figured maybe he’d racked up massive debts at the dice table and couldn’t pay them.”

“Where is he now?”

“At one of my retreat estate near Karangbolong. He’ll be safe there for a while with his wife, children, and a handful of trusted guards.”

“Whoever’s after him wiped out two entire villages trying to find him. I didn’t mention it in front of Nyai Gede and Pratiwi because I didn’t want to frighten them. The killings were... horrific. Everyone died. Women. Even infants.”

Ki Gede straightened abruptly. “What? Two villages? Which ones?”

“Jati and Srumbung. One of them still falls under Kenipir’s protection, doesn’t it?”

Wisnumurti recounted everything he, Jaladri, and Bajul had discovered in the two villages. He also explained that the people of Brabo had already taken care of burying the victims, grateful for the trio’s help during yesterday’s confrontation with Senopati Natpada over Sarni.

“My God...!” Ki Gede murmured, stroking his beard and forgetting all about the rice wine before him. “I’ll send men to investigate immediately.”

“This is bigger than we thought. Whoever did it slaughtered everyone with chilling precision. His martial arts are terrifying. Every victim died from a single, tiny slash to the carotid artery—the exact same spot on every neck. He’s frighteningly efficient. He knows exactly how to kill quickly and cleanly.”

“Sembada said the man introduced himself as... Tanpa Aran.”

“Tanpa Aran? That’s ridiculous. That’s not an introduction at all.”

Of course it wasn’t. Tanpa Aran literally meant Without a Name.

It explained nothing.

“But after hearing your story, I’m beginning to think this goes far beyond gambling debts.”

“And there’s another killer.”

Wisnumurti told him about the swordsman known as Pangeran Langit, who had murdered Kiai Sangkrah and Ki Saradipa—two martial masters whose reputations eclipsed even Sembada’s.

“Could Tanpa Aran and that Pangeran Langit actually be the same man?” Ki Gede muttered. “Using different names depending on who’s listening.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing. They both fight with swords. One thing’s certain—his skill is beyond frightening. If we ever have to face him, we’ll be in serious trouble. He kills masters like Kiai Sangkrah as if swatting flies.”

A shadow of genuine alarm settled over Ki Gede Nipir’s face.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course. What do you need, Uncle?”

“But you’ll have to leave immediately if you’re going to make it back in time for tonight’s feast.”

“Where am I headed?”

“Karangbolong. Bring Sembada and his family back here before Tanpa Aran discovers their hiding place. At first I thought a week or two at my retreat would be enough to keep him away from debt collectors. But now...” he exhaled grimly, “...now that I know what we’re dealing with, that house has become the perfect killing ground.”

“I’ll leave right away.”

“Take Bajul—or some of my men. You’ll want backup if Tanpa Aran shows up.”

“No need. Ki Sembada isn’t helpless, and I’ll get there faster alone. I tend to ride hard,” he paused. “Though before I go, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of Lintang Abyor?”

Ki Gede stared at him.

“Are you referring to some kind of legendary martial technique that goes by that name?”

“Yes.”

“Wait. Why are you asking about that?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I get back.”

Ki Gede swallowed.

“Because the one Lintang Abyor I know is one of the Pasir Royal Court’s most closely guarded techniques. Only His Majesty the Sultan and his closest sons are permitted to learn it.”

Wisnumurti’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

***

“Should I dump this in the river, Brother?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll be over there for a minute. Need to take a leak.”

Suwung Saketi carried a large pot filled with chicken and goat entrails toward the riverbank, dumping the contents into the current while casually keeping one eye on where the kitchen servant named Kendi had gone.

“Everything smooth?”

Saketi didn’t even bother turning around. He knew Remak’s footsteps—and even his smell—by heart.

“Nyai Gede loved the chicken curry I made. At this rate, she’ll probably hire me as the household cook starting tomorrow.”

Remak chuckled.

“Tomorrow this place won’t even exist anymore.”

“You really think the two of us are enough to wipe everyone out? I counted around thirty guards.”

“You take care of Nipir. I’ll handle his guards. Once I’m finished, I’ll come help you. Around here, he’s the only one worth worrying about. The rest are irrelevant.”

“There were visitors earlier. Friends of Nipir from the martial world?”

“No. His nephew’s party from Karang Bendan. Rich little brat—the son of Somanagara, the rice merchant.”

Suwung Saketi stood after rinsing the pot clean.

“All we need now is fresh meat for the special dish.”

Remak jerked his chin toward the yard.

“That one will do. Nice and plump.”

Saketi turned. Kendi was walking back toward them. The young servant was thickset, carrying a little extra weight, and smiled at Remak.

“Oh, you’re here too,” he said. “Finished washing the horses?”

Remak shook his head. “Not yet. Two more to go. Just taking a short break.”

Kendi looked at Saketi.

“Come on, back to the kitchen! We’ve still got a mountain of work.”

“Hold on. I want to tell you something first.”

“What?”

“When I call your name in a minute... blink, okay?”

Kendi blinked in confusion. “Huh? Why?”

“Because this is about to happen.”

Suwung’s hand shot out flat toward Kendi’s neck.

With a single effortless swing, the edge of his palm sliced through flesh as easily as a knife through a banana.

Blood erupted in a crimson spray. Kendi’s head separated cleanly from his body.

Remak sprinted after it as it rolled down the riverbank before finally stopping against a large boulder.

“Ndi! Kendi!”

The pair of eyes blinked.

Suwung walked over and crouched beside it.

“Kendi! Hey!”

The eyes blinked once more... then froze. They remained open forever.

“Oh...” Suwung nodded thoughtfully, hands on his hips. “So a severed head really does stay alive for a few moments. I’ve wondered about that for years. Never had the chance to test it myself.”

“Well, now you know.”

He glanced toward Kendi’s headless corpse.

“And since I’m busy, disposing of him is your job. Just make sure nobody sees the body intact before it reaches the kitchen to be skinned. Once it’s chopped into small pieces, nobody will know what kind of meat it really is. They’ll assume it’s beef... or buffalo.”

Remak trudged over to the corpse, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“I always get stuck with the filthy jobs.”

“But you get to sample the ingredients raw.”

Remak brightened.

“Oh... right.”

He casually drew his machete to Kendi’s neck, and brought it down with all his strength.