Two

“Yes. I visited both places,” Wisnumurti said. “As for Mataram, I only heard the news secondhand. The ruler there, the man known as Ki Gede Mataram, has died. His son, Sutawijaya, succeeded him and has taken the title Senopati ing Alaga.”

Jaladri let out a whistle.

“That’s a fierce title. Senopati ing Alaga, Commander of the Battlefield. Sounds like a man who wakes up every morning looking for another kingdom to conquer.”

“He’s exactly that kind of man,” Wisnumurti replied. “A brilliant war leader. One of the greatest martial artists in his region. And according to a prophecy, he’s destined to become the king of kings—the ruler who will dominate Java for centuries.”

Jaladri blinked.

“Really? Who made a prediction like that?”

“Sunan Giri Prapen,” Wisnumurti said. “The powerful ruler of Giri Kedaton in the east. And once word spread, the eastern rulers became nervous. They started talking about destroying Mataram before it grows too strong to stop.”

Jaladri always enjoyed talking with Wisnumurti. The young wanderer seemed to know everything. Every road he traveled brought back another story, another rumor, another piece of news from distant lands.

This was certainly one Jaladri had never heard before.

“So if Mataram is destined to rule all of Java,” he asked, “what happens to the Sultanate of Pasir? Does Pasir eventually kneel to Mataram too?”

Wisnumurti shrugged.

“Wouldn’t be unusual. Pasir used to be a vassal of Demak. It only became independent because Demak’s current ruler lost interest in the western territories. But independence can be temporary. Once Sultan Giriwangsa dies, Pasir could easily end up beneath another throne again. And if that happens, Mataram seems the most likely candidate.”

Jaladri knew enough history to understand the point.

The reigning ruler of Pasir, Sultan Giriwangsa, was only the kingdom’s second independent monarch. His predecessor had been his father, Sultan Sindunagara. Without a formidable ruler like Giriwangsa holding everything together, stronger powers would inevitably begin circling.

“What about the martial world?” Jaladri asked. “Any interesting news there?”

Wisnumurti bit into the head of a snapper swimming in yellow curry.

“Serial murders.”

Jaladri nearly choked.

“There’s a murderer?”

“Yes. Martial artists killing martial artists isn’t unusual. But one man carrying out a string of killings while openly announcing himself? That gets people's attention.”

Jaladri stared.

“Who is he?”

“He calls himself Pangeran Langit, Prince of the Sky.”

The name hung in the air.

“Two victims so far. Ki Saradipa, leader of the Red Banner Hall Clan. And Kiai Sangkrah of Blue Lotus School.”

“Kiai Sangkrah? That’s impossible. He wasn’t some ordinary fighter.”

“That’s precisely the problem. That means, the killer’s martial arts skill is no joke.”

“Do you think there’ll be more murders?”

“That’s what we need to prevent.”

Jaladri narrowed his eyes.

“You’re planning to hunt this man?”

Wisnumurti nodded.

“Of course. Both victims were close friends of my master. If this madman starts wandering near Mount Cakrabuana, he'll eventually threaten my school. I'd rather stop him before he gets that far.”

“You’ve already visited the murder sites?”

“I was actually on my way to Kiai Sangkrah’s place when I heard that martial arts leaders from all the territories under Pasir are gathering at Mount Wijil soon. It makes more sense to meet everyone there. So before heading to Mount Wijil in a few days, I decided to stop here for a little vacation.”

“Is the gathering related to the murders?”

“Most likely. This Prince of the Sky has managed to frighten some very powerful grandmasters.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Wisnumurti burst out laughing.

“Sure. And before you left your front gate, one of Pangeran Langit’s men cuts your head off after mistaking you for a rabbit.”

Jaladri clicked his tongue.

“You think I’m some sheltered little virgin who gets pushed around by every thug in town? Besides, Bajul will be with me. I’ll be fine.”

“Even if Bajul brings a hundred guards, do you seriously think your father will let you leave? You’re his favorite son. The heir to the Somanagara fortune. If somebody takes your head off, there’s no replacement sitting on a shelf somewhere.”

“I’ll talk to him. And you’ll help convince him.”

“There’s no way I’m gonna help you with that!”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“Tragic.”

“I need something new. An adventure. Danger. A chance to dance with death.”

Wisnumurti snorted.

“Death usually isn’t interested in dancing.”

Jaladri scowled.

After lunch, they performed the noon prayer at the small mosque beside the restaurant. By the time they returned to town, the sun had already begun its descent toward the western horizon.

Evening wasn't far away. A strong sea breeze swept through the streets, carrying the sharp scent of salt. The two friends walked in comfortable silence toward the mansion of Ki Somanagara near the town square. Then a scream shattered the afternoon.

A woman’s scream.

High. Terrified. Echoing through the surrounding streets. Wisnumurti and Jaladri stopped instantly.

“What was that?” Wisnumurti asked.

“Maybe somebody got murdered,” Jaladri replied casually.

People immediately began running toward the source of the sound. Naturally, neither young man intended to miss whatever had happened. They followed the crowd around a corner, then another, before entering a narrow alley squeezed between two large buildings.

A crowd had already formed. Several townsfolk were carrying a fainting woman into the shade. At first Jaladri assumed she was the source of the commotion.

He was wrong.

Following behind Wisnumurti, he pushed through the gathering until they reached the front. What they saw was not a sight meant for weak stomachs. A young man stood upright against a wall.

Motionless.

His eyes stared blankly into nothing. Fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. A small dagger protruded from the left side of his chest. The wound surrounding it was catastrophic. The blade had gone straight through his heart. Death had been instantaneous.

While the crowd argued over the victim’s identity, a dark shape flashed across the rooftops overhead. Everyone looked up. Wisnumurti reacted first. He launched himself skyward.

At the apex of his leap, the fleeing figure glanced back with an irritated snort. His arm flicked. Three silver daggers shot through the air. They came fast. Far too fast for ordinary eyes.

Wisnumurti avoided them effortlessly.

One sidestep. One sweeping motion. All three blades were knocked harmlessly aside. Without breaking momentum, he continued the pursuit. The masked man sprang backward while simultaneously counterattacking.

Their first clash exploded across the rooftops. Wisnumurti immediately held the advantage. A single step forward trapped the masked assassin beneath a relentless storm of attacks. Punches came one after another.

The stranger was forced into a series of desperate backflips merely to survive. Each retreat carried him closer to the edge of a roof. A dangerous position. Wisnumurti never wasted opportunities.

Not ever.

Even though he had already determined that the masked man's skill was at least a level beneath his own, he pressed harder. The assassin found himself completely overwhelmed. Unable to launch a meaningful counterattack.

Finally, after a deceptively complex combination, Wisnumurti’s fist smashed into the man's left shoulder. The fight should have ended there. The assassin toppled from the roof. Wisnumurti dove after him. The distance closed rapidly. The stranger was directly below. One more strike and it would be over.

Then a cloud of green smoke erupted upward. Wisnumurti shouted. Even before the fumes reached him, he smelled the poison.

Vicious. Lethal.

His inner force surged instinctively, shielding his body. Using the air itself as a cushion, he twisted away and vaulted back onto the rooftop. He waited. The wind scattered the toxic cloud. When he finally looked down, the assassin was gone.

Vanished. As though the earth had swallowed him whole. Wisnumurti cursed under his breath. Then he dropped back to the alley. Jaladri was waiting, holding a small dagger.

“What did he throw at the end?” Jaladri asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you retreat that quickly.”

“Corpse Forest poison powder. One breath is enough to burn your insides to ash.”

“That explains it.”

Jaladri held up a smalll dagger.

“I caught this one after you knocked it aside. Maybe you've seen it before.”

Wisnumurti took the weapon. The moment he saw the skull carved into the hilt, his face hardened.

“Corpse Forest poison...!” he murmured. “And skull daggers. The Lambang Merah Clan.”

Jaladri frowned.

“What’s Lambang Merah?”

Instead of answering, Wisnumurti suddenly pointed toward the murder victim.

“Burn the body! Now!”

Jaladri stared.

“What?”

“Burn it immediately! Or everyone in this city could be dead before the time it takes to cook a pot of rice.”

Jaladri jumped in shock.