Chapter 15 – The Hurricane That Shattered the Bearded Beasts

Though he was a newly emerged warrior in the world of martial arts, Wiro Sableng was no stranger to the intensity of a battle. Seventeen years of training under Sinto Gendeng had honed him in more than just martial skill—each session had been a deadly trial that could have ended his life had he faltered.

So when the three savage attacks came flying toward him, Wiro didn’t panic. In a flash, he seized Nilamsuri by the waist, dropped low to the ground, and with a thunderous yell, slammed his fist into the leg of a horse charging straight at them. The beast let out a harrowing neigh before collapsing, its leg shattered like brittle wood.

The rider—none other than the cross-eyed Pitala Kuning—was hurled from his mount. But calling on his light body technique, he twisted mid-air and landed upright with both feet planted on the ground.

At the same time, sparks exploded in the air as Bergola Wungu’s long blade clashed with Seta Inging’s cleaver. Wiro, still rolling on the ground, lashed out with a double kick to the legs of the remaining horses. Just like the first, the animals screamed and buckled. Bergola Wungu and Seta Inging were thrown from their saddles like sacks of rice.

Wiro set Nilamsuri against the trunk of a nearby tree and turned swiftly, ready for the next assault. Only three of the four bearded villains were still battle-worthy—Ketut Ireng was on the ground, groaning in agony with his swollen, blackened leg.

“I’ll say it one last time,” said Wiro, voice calm but edged with steel. “Leave now.”

“Big words for a brat!” roared Bergola Wungu, face flushed with rage. “Tell me your name, so my blade won’t feel regret cutting your throat!”

Wiro whistled casually, scratched his wild hair, and burst out laughing. Then, as if the fight were a play, he broke into a mocking song:

“Little fools, call them kings of fools,
Old fools, still the kings of fools,
Monkeys trying to be men,
Why grow beards if you dream of trees again?
Dumb, dull, daft, demented!”

Fury ignited like wildfire in Bergola Wungu’s veins. “You lunatic bastard!” he howled. “Taste my steel!”

He lunged forward, unleashing the deadly Crane Strikes the Toad technique, aiming his long blade right at Wiro’s throat.

But the young warrior simply shifted his weight. The blade missed his neck by half a handspan. Wiro laughed in his face.

Bergola Wungu ground his teeth. Never before had someone evaded his treasured blade technique with such ease—and mockery! With a snarl, he reversed the slash to decapitate the impudent youth.

But Wiro’s left hand deflected the sword arm, while his right palm struck Bergola Wungu square in the chest.

The bandit leader gasped and stumbled back, nearly falling on his rear. He looked down—and froze in horror. His black tunic had been seared open. Burned into his bare chest was the imprint of a hand… and at its center, the number 212!

Pain surged through him like lightning. Despite channeling his inner strength to dampen the injury, the agony barely subsided.

Pitala Kuning and Seta Inging paled as they saw what had happened to their leader. Who was this young warrior who looked barely older than a boy yet bore such terrifying power? What did the number 212 mean?!

In truth, Wiro had only used a fifth of his inner strength in that 212 Sacred Palm. Had he used even half, Bergola Wungu’s chest would have caved in and his soul sent screaming into the afterlife.

But fury had blinded the bandit leader to the obvious danger.

Still wheezing, Bergola Wungu stepped forward. “You cursed lunatic!” he spat. “You’ve scarred my chest, but I, Bergola Wungu, will repay the favor! Know this stance well—do you recognize the technique I am about to unleash?!”

Wiro scratched his head again, laughing. “Why bother with announcements? If you want to fight, just fight. What is this, a speech contest?”

The insult made Bergola Wungu tremble with wrath. “Laugh while you can, fool! This is the Heaven-Rending Slash! Let’s see if you’re still smiling when I’m done!”

This infamous technique was the same one he had used to shred Nilamsuri’s clothing—to humiliate and destroy with cruel precision.

“‘Heaven-Rending Slash’?” said Wiro, unimpressed. “Sounds dramatic. But is there any substance behind it?”

With a furious roar, Bergola Wungu whirled his blade. A storm erupted from its movement—like a hundred blades striking at once. In the blink of an eye, Wiro Sableng was swallowed by the tempest.

But strangely, he didn’t move. Not a finger.

And more strangely still… not a single blade touched him.

Bergola Wungu howled in disbelief, slashing and stabbing like a beast gone mad. Seta Inging and Pitala Kuning could only gape in stunned silence.

This was the power of the Hurricane Fortress Sweeps the Sea—a legendary defense technique that unleashed a vortex of invisible force, rendering any physical attack useless. Every strike, every thrust, was swallowed by the gale surrounding Wiro’s body.

Bergola Wungu roared and redoubled his attack. Twenty strikes. Thirty. Still, nothing landed. Sweat poured from his body. His grip on the hilt became slick. His breath grew ragged.

“Seta Inging! Pitala Kuning! What are you waiting for?! HELP ME!” he screamed.

The two underlings snapped to action, weapons raised. A long saber, a spiked club, a cleaver—all danced toward Wiro in a deadly triangle of death.

But the hurricane held strong.

Wiro burst into uproarious laughter. The laugh itself—charged with internal energy—sent waves of force that deepened the chaos. Ten more exchanges passed.

“CIAATT!!”

Wiro let out a thunderous cry. All three bearded men gasped and leapt back in terror.

Their eyes widened. Wiro Sableng was now gripping all three of their weapons!

Even Ketut Ireng, still nursing his leg on the ground, gawked in disbelief.

The Four Bearded Beasts of Goa Sanggreng were no petty thugs. Their names were feared across the rivers of Cimandilu. Especially Bergola Wungu—his blade technique was renowned in the martial world.

And yet this boy had humiliated them.

“If today we’ve received a lesson,” said Bergola Wungu through clenched teeth, “know that we won’t forget it. One day, we’ll return and settle this.”

Wiro laughed again. “Oh, you’re still talking? Good, here—take back your toys!”

He flicked his hand, and the three stolen weapons flew cleanly to their owners—each caught by their rightful wielder.

Without another word, the four bandits gathered, supporting their wounded comrade.

But just as they turned, Wiro spoke, his tone suddenly chilling.

“One more thing, you bearded baboons. If I catch you bothering this girl again… I’ll send you all straight to hell.”