Chapter 16 – Shadows of the Past, Flames of Vengeance

As the Four Bearded Devils of Goa Sanggreng vanished into the distance, Wiro Sableng wasted no time. With a light tap, he released the energy seal on Nilamsuri’s vital point. The girl blinked, her gaze darting around in confusion as if she’d just awakened from a long dream. Yet, the signs of a fierce battle still lingered around her—the broken branches, the hoof prints, the disturbed earth.

“What happened?” she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

Wiro chuckled lightly. “Nothing at all.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Nilamsuri. “Just before everything went dark, I heard galloping. Horses. Men coming this way…”

“Oh? You must’ve been imagining things,” Wiro replied, scratching his head. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

Nilamsuri furrowed her brows, trying to recall the last moments before she lost consciousness. Then her face shifted. She brought a hand up to the side of her neck and rubbed gently over a spot where she felt soreness—a vital nerve had clearly been struck.

“You…” she whispered, then her eyes hardened as she looked at Wiro. “You jumped over me… and… you sealed the meridian in my neck?”

Before the last word even left her lips, she had already unsheathed her sword with a crisp metallic shhhk!

“What did you do to me?!” she barked, pointing the tip toward him.

Wiro Sableng cursed under his breath. Damn it… Save a girl and she pulls a sword on you. Outwardly, however, he smiled as if it were all a misunderstanding between friends.

“Let’s not think poorly of one another, Sister,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “I assure you, my intentions were noble.”

“Then why did you seal my meridian?!”

Wiro scratched his shaggy head again, eyes darting about like a child caught stealing sweets.

“I… I only know a bit of sealing technique,” he said with a sheepish grin. “You were about to charge those four bearded goons like a wildcat. I knew you wouldn’t stand a chance. So I struck your meridian and hid us both behind the bamboo thicket. After they left, I brought you back here and unsealed you. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“I never asked you to,” Wiro replied, his grin not fading.

“Who are you, really?”

“Haven’t I told you? I even gave you my name,” Wiro said, pretending to sound wounded. “Meanwhile, you’ve kept yours a mystery, haven’t you?”

Nilamsuri, boiling with both anger and suspicion, had had enough.

“Very well,” she said coldly. “Since you refuse to answer, let my sword do the asking!”

With that, she lunged. Her blade shot straight at Wiro’s chest like a silver serpent!

Startled, Wiro jumped back, nearly tripping on a root. “Sister! What are you doing?! Why are you attacking me?!”

Instead of answering, Nilamsuri launched a flurry of attacks. Her sword whistled through the air like wind slicing through leaves. Wiro had no choice but to dodge and retreat in rapid steps.

“No more games now!” Nilamsuri shouted. “Take this—Falcon Pierces the Dove!”

Her sword swung from the left toward Wiro’s shoulder, then curved with lightning speed toward his ribs in a sudden lunge. Like a hawk snatching prey mid-flight.

Wiro’s left hand flashed. A gust of internal energy burst forth from his palm, striking the flat of her blade and sending it veering away.

“Sister,” said Wiro Sableng, voice light, “I’ve got other matters to attend to. Until next time!”

Before she could respond, he darted forward, tapped her chin with a mischievous finger, and vanished in a blur of motion.

“Scoundrel!” Nilamsuri yelled. Her sword lashed out, but struck nothing but empty air.

Only Wiro’s laughter echoed from the distance—infuriating and carefree.

Nilamsuri stood frozen. Her cheeks flushed with frustration. That insufferable rogue!

And yet… deep in her heart, she couldn’t deny a strange emotion stirring within. Earlier, she had tested him with her most precise sword techniques. He had evaded them all with ease—worse, he had deflected her sword with a bare hand and a gust of chi. That wasn’t something a madman could do. This boy was no fool, no lunatic.

Despite her fury, a flicker of admiration burned quietly behind her eyes. She gently touched her chin—the same spot where he’d teasingly flicked her.

And to her own surprise… she smiled.

---

The small tavern stood silent, embraced by the cold night wind drifting down from the valley. Wiro Sableng strolled in casually, whistling a lighthearted tune as if the night held no secrets.

The elderly tavern keeper, his face pale with worry, stepped forward to greet him.

“Leave this place quickly, young man,” the old man said in a hushed voice.

“Oh? What for?” asked Wiro, blinking innocently.

“They may return soon—those four bearded men.”

Wiro stretched and yawned. “So?”

“They’re not the kind you want to cross.”

“Well, I’m not the kind who worries about that,” Wiro replied, plopping himself down onto a rickety wooden chair.

The tavern keeper leaned closer. “You may not know who they are… They’re the Four Bearded Devils from Sanggreng Cave—feared river bandits of the Cimandilu.”

“They could be the Four Devils from Hell for all I care,” said Wiro with a grin.

The old man fell silent. He had witnessed, earlier that day, this same young man casually shove bananas into the mouths of the infamous bandits—something that even the most seasoned martial artists wouldn’t dare attempt.

Finally, he asked, “Young man, who exactly are you? Where do you come from?”

Wiro rubbed his clean-shaven chin, which triggered a memory—the sensation of Nilamsuri’s soft jaw when he’d flicked it playfully. He chuckled to himself, further deepening the old man’s suspicion that this boy was either fearless—or mad.

“Have you lived here long, sir?” Wiro asked suddenly.

“Since I was a newborn…”

“Then you must know the name Ranaweleng?”

“Of course! A noble man, the head of this village… but alas—”

“But what?”

The tavern keeper’s face grew somber. His eyes drifted toward the darkness beyond the door, as if searching for memories among the trees.

“He’s long dead.”

Wiro swallowed hard. “Do you know who killed him?”

The old man stared into Wiro’s eyes. “Everyone knows.” Then, slowly, he told the tale—how seventeen years ago, Ranaweleng and his wife, Suci Bantari, were killed. A tale Wiro already knew, for his master, the eccentric Sinto Gendeng, had once told him.

“There was something strange that day,” the old man continued. “Mahesa Birawa and his thugs torched Ranaweleng’s house. Amid the roaring flames… came the cry of an infant—Ranaweleng’s baby. Everyone stood frozen in horror. No one dared step into that inferno. Then… a shadow swept through the fire. In a blink, it vanished. The baby’s cries vanished too. When the flames finally died, there was no trace of the child. No bones. Nothing.”

Wiro’s expression darkened. He knew the child in that story. It was him. And the shadow that braved the flames? His master, Sinto Gendeng.

“Has no one ever learned what became of Ranaweleng’s child?” Wiro asked.

“If he’s still alive,” said the old man, “he’d be about your age.”

“And Mahesa Birawa? Is he still around?”

“He was here up until two years ago. Now? Who knows. But even if he’s gone, his followers are still here—no better than their master. Ruthless, cruel. They rob, kill, and never pay for a meal.”

“Are they the same Four Bearded men?”

“No, no! The Bearded Ones came here from far away to settle an old score with Mahesa Birawa’s men. But don’t mistake them for heroes—they’re no better. Robbers and murderers, all the same. It’s just that Mahesa’s men weren’t in town when they came. Off somewhere for four days now.”

Wiro reached up and plucked a banana from a hanging bunch.

“Hey, you got money to pay for that?” the tavern keeper grumbled.

Wiro laughed. “Just add it to my tab, old man.”

The old man sighed. Another customer who dined and dashed.

As he chewed, Wiro asked, “So what’s their business here, really?”

The tavern keeper glanced out the window again. “The leader of the Four Bearded Devils—the one now calling himself Bergola Wungu—was once from this very village. Years ago, Mahesa Birawa’s men killed his parents and dishonored his sisters. Bergola Wungu barely escaped with his life. But when he returned, he came back a villain, just like those he once hated.”

Wiro was silent for a long moment.

Then, a thought struck him—something Nilamsuri had said earlier.

“Do you know someone named Kalingundil?”

The old man’s brow furrowed. “That’s an odd question to ask right now.”

“Why?”

“Because Kalingundil is one of Mahesa Birawa’s men—leader of the four who still remain here.”

Wiro’s heart skipped a beat. So that’s why Nilamsuri had asked about him in the graveyard earlier.

He placed the banana peel on the table. “This afternoon, the Bearded Ones tried to gang up on a young girl—tried to violate her. You know anything about that?”

“She wore blue?”

“Yes.”

The old man let out a long breath. “Bergola Wungu kept asking if someone else lived in Kalingundil’s house. I said no. Safer that way. If I said yes and Kalingundil found out, my head would be next. The girl in blue… she’s his daughter.”

The truth hit Wiro like a slap.

That’s why Bergola Wungu wanted her dead. Vengeance.

“The father sins, and the daughter pays the price,” muttered the tavern keeper bitterly.

Wiro nodded solemnly. “Old hatred is like rusted iron—it corrodes even the purest hands. But sometimes, that same rust is karma come full circle.”

“Well said, young man,” the old man murmured. Then he leaned forward. “When Bergola Wungu found out you lied to him earlier… he slapped me across the face!”

“That’s your own fault,” said Wiro with a smirk. “Old as you are, you still insist on lying.”

The old man scowled and grumbled under his breath. His frown deepened as Wiro added, “I’ll have a cup of tea, please.”

With a sigh, the old man went to make it. Wiro, meanwhile, sank into his thoughts. Nilamsuri… the daughter of Kalingundil. One of Mahesa Birawa’s butchers. One of those who murdered my parents…

When the tea was served, Wiro asked, “Do you know the girl’s name?”

“Nilamsuri. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Pity her father’s a demon.”

“When Ranaweleng was killed… did Kalingundil take part?”

“Him and every one of Mahesa’s scum,” the old man confirmed.

Wiro opened his mouth to ask more, but then a rumble of hooves cut through the night. Four riders thundered past the tavern.

They weren’t the Bearded Ones.

The old man’s eyes followed them, and he sighed. “Kalingundil and his men. Looks like a showdown’s coming.”

“Who do you think will win?” asked Wiro.

The tavern keeper shrugged. “I hope none of them do. Let the heavens strike them all down. Bergola Wungu or Kalingundil—same devils, different names. And neither of them pays for their food!”

Wiro burst out laughing and downed his tea in one gulp. Then he stood up.

“I may not be paying for this banana and tea today, old man—but don’t you dare lump me in with those bastards.”

With that, Wiro turned and walked out into the night.

The old man reached for the empty glass, then stopped. Something caught his eye. There—etched faintly on the glass—was a number.

He squinted.

No mistake.

212.

He wiped it with his sleeve. Then again. And again.

But the numbers remained.

“Strange,” the old man muttered. “The older this world gets, the stranger it becomes…”