Chapter 13: The Phantom in White and the Girl Named Nilamsuri

Vengeful hatred, when laced with the bestial urges of lust, could unleash horrors beyond reckoning. Nilamsuri’s condition had reached its limits. Her strength was nearly drained. Four pairs of hands clawed at her body, sprawled helplessly atop a weathered grave.

“Hahaha! Let the bones of your mother witness the justice of karma!” laughed Bergola Wungu.

Nilamsuri struck with her knee as he moved atop her, but the blow, weak as it was, had no effect on the burly bearded bandit.

“Bastard! Just kill me already!” she screamed.

“First your dignity… then your life!” Bergola Wungu sneered, licking his lips.

Just as his filthy intentions began to manifest—egged on by his three companions—a strange wind surged through the graveyard. A white blur streaked in from the eastern hillside. In the blink of an eye, the four bandits froze like lifeless statues!

Nilamsuri felt the sudden stop of movement. Hands that had been groping her just moments ago now hung in place. Her tearful eyes flew open—what she saw left her in disbelief.

All four men remained squatting around her, yet they were no longer moving. Their eyes bulged wide; their muscles locked stiff. It was as if death itself had struck mid-motion.

She bolted upright.

What had happened?

She remembered the sudden gust. Had someone… saved her? Could it have been a martial arts master—one with unimaginable skill? Or was this the work of graveyard spirits?

Her eyes searched their bodies. Each man bore a small mark at the base of the neck—a nerve strike perhaps? But who could have moved so quickly—striking four powerful warriors without them even noticing?

Then, something else caught her eye.

On a moss-covered tombstone lay a neatly folded set of white clothes—shirt and trousers. Only now did she recall her tattered state. Her garments had been torn to near ruin. Without hesitation, she grabbed the clothes and dashed behind a thicket.

They were a bit large, but they covered her well. Her shame hidden, she stepped back into the clearing, eyes blazing.

Rage now roared inside her. She stormed forward, snatched her fallen sword from the ground, and raised it high. The cold steel hissed through the air—aimed to cleave Bergola Wungu’s skull in two!

“Tring!”

A small pebble, no larger than a fingertip, struck the flat of her blade. The force jolted the sword skyward—clean over Bergola Wungu’s head.

Shocked, Nilamsuri spun around. “Who goes there?! Show yourself, coward! If you dare strike, then show your face!”

No answer.

But a rustle in the nearby shrubbery caught her ear. With a growl, she lashed out a palm strike. The foliage exploded—but behind it, no one was there.

Her fury mounting, she whirled back and aimed another slash at the motionless men. Again—

“Tring!”

Another pebble ricocheted off her sword, knocking it askew.

“Damn you!” she screamed. “If you want a fight, stop hiding like a snake!”

A peal of laughter echoed through the graveyard. It came from the bamboo grove.

Snarling, Nilamsuri struck with another palm blast. Stalks cracked. Leaves rained down. Bamboo toppled. Yet—no trace of her tormentor.

The voice laughed again. This time, it spoke.

“Only cowards kill enemies who cannot defend themselves.”

Nilamsuri turned sharply. Her eyes caught a flash—atop the red frangipani tree, a figure blurred northward like a ghost!

With a growl, she leapt after him.

She ran for hundreds of paces. But the figure was gone.

No shadow.

No footprints.

She halted by a deep ravine, heart pounding—not from the chase, but from frustration. Who was that man? Was he her savior? Why did he stop her from taking revenge?

She looked down at the white garments she now wore—the ones found folded atop a grave. Could they have been left there… by him?

Was he testing her?

She turned to return to the graveyard.

But from behind a nearby waru tree, a voice spoke again.

“Back already? To finish off helpless foes? You shame your sword skills with such disgraceful intent.”

Her eyes blazed. In a flash, she leapt—but again, the figure vanished like mist, slipping into the ravine.

“Spirit or man—stop running!” she shouted, and plunged in after him.

She combed the ravine, but it was empty.

At the edge of a narrow stream, she paused. Then—an aroma.

A tantalizing scent.

Something was being grilled nearby. Her stomach churned. Following her nose upstream, she reached a bend in the river.

There, seated on a slick black boulder in midstream, was a young man in white, long hair cascading down his back. He sat with his back to her, gnawing on… grilled fish?

Nilamsuri narrowed her eyes. The scent was coming from him. Yet there was no fire in sight. How had he cooked it?

“Hey!” she called out. “Did you see anyone pass by here?”

No answer. The man kept eating.

“I said hey!” she shouted again.

This time he turned.

Nilamsuri blinked.

He was… handsome. But oddly childish—almost foolish.

“Eh? Were you talking to me?” he asked with a mouth full of fish.

“Yes! I’m looking for someone!”

“Man or woman?” he asked.

“Man. Dressed in white.”

The man on the rock tossed aside the fish bones. He looked down at his own white outfit.

“Well, I’m dressed in white. Maybe I’m the one you’re looking for.” He grinned, scratching his head.

Nilamsuri frowned. Was he joking?

“You followed the smell of my fish, didn’t you?” he said slyly. “Don’t be shy. Want a bite? I’ve got another one!”

“I don’t want your stupid fish!”

“Oh? Too bad,” he said, still grinning. “But if I tell you what I know, what will you give me?”

“Anything!” she snapped, anxious to resume the chase.

“Anything?” he said with a gleam. “Then I’ll take… you.”

“You dog! Say that again and I’ll slap your filthy mouth!”

“Whoa, whoa!” he raised both hands. “Why so angry?”

Nilamsuri trembled with frustration. Then she remembered—she had said “anything.”

“Listen, I—” she began.

But he cut her off. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk to someone who slaps me before I even help.”

“I’m not done talking—!”

“Save it,” he muttered. “If you slap me now, you’ll probably kick me later too!”

She bit her lip. Then spun and stalked off.

“Wait, miss!” he called.

She turned.

“Why are you chasing that man? Is he your lover?”

“You want another slap?!”

The long-haired youth laughed. “Funny world… Usually it’s the man chasing the woman. But here you are—chasing a guy.”

She stared at him.

He was a little… odd.

She turned and left again.

“Hey, don’t you want some fish?”

She ignored him.

“Don’t go that way!” he shouted. “There are crocodiles!”

Still, she pressed on.

He scratched his head, then suddenly darted across the stream—the water barely up to his knees—and caught up with her.

“Hey, where are you going?!”

“Hands off!”

“Really—there are crocodiles!”

Just then—two massive crocs burst from the undergrowth!

“Told you!” the youth shouted as he leapt aside.

Nilamsuri drew her sword. One swift stroke sliced a crocodile’s jaw clean off. The other met the same fate.

But the scent of blood had already brought more.

Three… four… five more crocodiles slithered ashore, jaws snapping.

Yet the girl fought like a tempest. Her blade flashed. One by one, the monsters fell.

The youth whistled in awe. “Amazing! You’re a real silat master! Will you take me as your disciple?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I mean it!”

“Shut up, or I’ll slice you next!”

The boy flinched.

“I really want to learn silat, I swear!”

“Pathetic. Begging like a child,” she scoffed.

“Well you’re wearing a man’s outfit!” he snapped back.

She flushed. He wasn’t wrong—the white shirt and trousers had once belonged to a man. She turned away in embarrassment.

“Wait, miss!”

“What now?!”

“At least tell me your name!”

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“Come on… I told you mine.”

“I don’t care what your name is.”

“My name’s Wiro Sableng.”

Nilamsuri paused.

“…Figures,” she muttered.

“Figures what?”

“Figures you act like a madman!”

And with that, she stormed off once more.