Chapter 11: The Four Bearded Fiends of Sanggreng Cave

Who were the four men in black, all with scruffy beards and savage eyes?

They called themselves The Four Bearded Fiends of Sanggreng Cave, led by none other than Bergola Wungu. These weren’t ordinary travelers. They were a notorious gang of marauders whose name struck terror all along the Cimandilu River, known for their brutality.

Once upon a time, Bergola Wungu was the son of an honorable man. But his father was slain in cold blood by Kalingundil—the infamous bandit lord who ruled over Jatiwalu like a demon in human skin. After his father’s murder, the rest of Bergola’s family was wiped out in a massacre. With vengeance etched into his soul, the young man—then only twenty-six—left his home village, vowing to find a master who could teach him the deadly skills needed for retribution.

Years passed. He trained in secret under a reclusive martial sage and eventually emerged with formidable power. Along the way, he gathered three loyal followers, each as ruthless as himself. Together, they terrorized the region around the Cimandilu River, carving their name into the annals of infamy.

Then came the day he decided it was time—time to settle the old blood debt. With his men, Bergola returned to Jatiwalu. But Kalingundil was gone. So were his three known henchmen. The house stood cold and empty.

“They’re not here,” Bergola muttered. “But they’ll return. And when they do, I’ll be waiting.”

The four thugs sat at the same table in the dusty inn, brooding in silence. Bergola Wungu downed his bamboo cup of liquor.

“I think that long-haired punk from earlier might be one of Kalingundil’s lackeys,” said Ketut Ireng, sitting across from him.

Bergola set down his cup, eyes narrowing. “If that’s true, then my plan for revenge may crumble before it begins. If that boy’s already this powerful, imagine what Kalingundil has become! Fifteen years is a long time to sharpen a blade…”

“Maybe Kalingundil recruited more men,” added Seta Inging. “That one earlier could be a new recruit.”

Bergola Wungu growled. “No. Kalingundil had only three men. I remember their faces. That wasn’t one of them. And… I’m not even sure that was a man!”

He waved for the innkeeper. The old man came over, bowing deeply.

“How many men did Kalingundil have?” snapped Bergola.

“Only three, Master. Just the same three as always.”

“And no one knows where they’ve gone?”

“No one, Master.”

“What about the house? Is there anyone else living there?”

“No, Master. Empty.”

“I heard he had a wife.”

“She died, Master.”

“A daughter?”

“She’s alive.”

“Then where is she?”

“I—I don’t know, Master.”

“Liar!”

“I swear, Master! I truly don’t know. Maybe she left with them. Maybe she’s staying with her aunt…”

“Where’s this aunt live?”

“I don’t know, Master.”

“All you ever say is ‘I don’t know’!” Bergola slammed his fist on the table.

Ketut Ireng stepped in menacingly. “Burn this place down,” he hissed.

The old man fell to his knees, trembling. “Please, Masters! Have mercy. I swear I don’t know anything. Please don’t burn the inn! I’ve heard she might be with her aunt, that’s all.”

Bergola stared him down. “You pathetic cowards,” he spat. “All of you. You let Kalingundil murder, rob, and dishonor your people—and still you protect him!”

“We hate him, Master,” said the innkeeper. “But we are just villagers. We have no strength to fight back…”

“You’re not weak,” Ketut Ireng barked. “You’re spineless coward!”

“If we don’t find Kalingundil or his minions in the next few days,” growled Bergola, “we’ll torch his house—and this whole cursed village along with it!”

The old man paled. “Please, Master… Jatiwalu was once your home too…”

“Once,” said Bergola coldly. “But not after my father was murdered and my kin slaughtered. You all stood by and did nothing while my mother’s dignity was trampled and my siblings butchered. This place is no longer my home—it’s the grave of my past!”

He slammed his bamboo cup down with such force that the table cracked and the cup split in two.

“We didn’t stay silent out of choice,” whimpered the innkeeper. “We were powerless. Kalingundil’s men are monsters in human form.”

“Silence!” Bergola snapped. The innkeeper clamped his mouth shut.

Ketut Ireng leaned forward. “Do you know who that long-haired stranger was?”

“No, Master… Truly, I don’t…”

“Get out of my sight,” Bergola hissed.

The innkeeper scurried away. A moment later, the Four Bearded Fiends left the inn, not bothering to pay a single copper for the food or drink they’d consumed.