Chapter 2: The Old Man

They both pulled their horses to a stop before an old man who was pulling weeds in the yard. Without dismounting, Kalingundil barked harshly, “Is this Ranaweleng’s house?!”

The old man slowly standing, it was clear that his body was short and hunched. He tilted his head up and pushed back the bamboo hat that covered his brow to see who had spoken to him. He didn’t answer right away, instead casting a glance at Saksoko, who sat atop his horse to Kalingundil’s right.

“Stupid old fool!” snapped Kalingundil.

This slim man clearly lacked patience. “I asked you, is this Ranaweleng’s house?!”

“Yes!” the old man replied calmly. “What business do you have, sir?”

The fat and short Saksoko now opened his mouth. His voice was hoarse and grating. “No need to ask questions, old man. Just move aside!”

Saksoko yanked on his reins. The horse suddenly leapt forward—its hooves struck the old man and sent him sprawling!

The old man rose slowly. Though his eyes had dimmed with age, they now flashed with a strange light. With a careless nudge from his left foot, he kicked the bamboo hat lying on the ground.

That hat shot forward like an arrow—striking the groin of Saksoko’s horse! The stallion let out a wild neigh. Its front legs reared up high, and Saksoko was thrown hard to the ground!

The old man quietly smirked. Acting as if nothing had happened, he turned around, squatted and resumed pulling weeds in the yard! The fat short man’s eyes glimmered. For a long moment, everything looked hazy to him.

“Saksoko, what the hell happened to you?!” asked Kalingundil in shock.

“I’ve no idea,” grumbled Saksoko as he got up and dusted his trousers.

He looked around. There was no one except that old man still pulling weeds. His gaze then landed on the bamboo hat lying not far away. Suspicion flared in his heart. But when he looked again at the frail, hunched old man, the doubt faded. Impossible, he thought. There’s no way that old geezer threw the hat.

Kalingundil too looked around, puzzled. His eyes swept over the old man. Then the hat. He muttered, “I think that scrawny old guy…”

Kalingundil did indeed have keener senses than his comrade. His martial skills were also a couple levels higher than Saksoko’s.

“No way,” said Saksoko dismissively.

“Let’s find out.” Kalingundil dismounted, picked up the hat, and examined it briefly. His eyes flicked to the old man, who was still weeding near the fence. Kalingundil flicked his right hand. The hat flew through the air straight toward the old man’s head.

As if just casually scratching his head, the squatting man reached up—and the hat veered sharply to the side, tumbling harmlessly across the ground! Kalingundil and Saksoko stared at each other.

“What did I tell you? You saw that?” Kalingundil hissed.

The sight made the fat man Saksoko furious. “You crazy old fart!” he growled. “Showing off just ‘cause you know a few tricks!”

He crouched down, scooped up a handful of dirt, and flung it at the old man. Though it was only sand, he charged it with internal energy—turning it into a deadly spray that could cut skin or blind eyes!

The old man suddenly stood, still hunched. He brushed his black clothes as if just cleaning off dust, but the motion somehow scattered the sand before it could touch him!

“Damn bastard!” Saksoko cursed, feeling mocked. He lunged forward. From a few paces away, he sent out a punch—its invisible force aimed directly at the old man’s heart!

The old man twisted to the side.

“What the hell’s your problem?!” he asked in a gentle, lilting voice. “Why are you attacking me?!” But his movement had dodged the strike by just inches. Saksoko gritted his teeth.

“Mad old man! Who the hell are you?!”

The old man grinned, showing gums completely devoid of teeth. “I’m just an old man. No need to shout or curse!” He pushed his right palm forward.

A sudden burst of wind slammed into Saksoko. If he hadn’t leapt aside, the short fat man would’ve been done for. He sprang to the side and lashed out with a punch—but at that moment, a voice rang out from the house:

“What’s going on here?! Stop!”

Saksoko yanked his hand back and turned. A handsome young man stepped onto the porch. Then he saw Kalingundil signaling for him to come over. Though still fuming, the two of them stepped up to the porch.

“You are Ranaweleng?” barked Kalingundil.

In all his time as village chief of Jatiwalu, Ranaweleng had never been yelled at like this—let alone by strangers. But judging by their faces and behavior, he knew right away they didn’t come in peace. Still, he responded calmly.

“Yes, I’m Ranaweleng. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Kalingundil pulled a scroll from inside his clothes. “Here. Read this!” He tossed the scroll at Ranaweleng. It shot through the air with an audible whoosh, the wooden pin on one end piercing a post on the porch!

Ranaweleng was startled, but he steadied himself. He pulled the scroll and read it as the two men stood, watching him.

“Ranaweleng, you bastard! I give you one day to get out of Jatiwalu! Take your child but leave your wife behind! This is an order! If you disobey, you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunset! This is an order from Mahesa Birawa!”

Ranaweleng’s body trembled. His chest burned with fury. He had never heard of Mahesa Birawa, let alone met the man. Eyes blazing, he glared at the two men.

“Who the hell is Mahesa Birawa?” he asked.

Kalingundil spat on the ground before answering. “The man whose lover you stole—the woman who is now your wife!”

Ranaweleng’s shock was beyond words. Before he could reply, Saksoko jumped in.

“Mahesa Birawa wants your answer today, Ranaweleng!”

Kalingundil added, “And I suggest you follow that letter’s orders.”

“And if I don’t?” Ranaweleng asked through clenched teeth.

Kalingundil let out a cackling laugh. His big, yellowed teeth showed.

Ranaweleng couldn’t contain his rage any longer. He crushed the scroll’s wooden pin in his fist and hurled the pieces straight at Kalingundil’s face—striking him right on his open, laughing mouth!

“You worthless scum!” Kalingundil shouted and leapt forward. “You dare insult me?!”

“Don’t come here acting tough, you devil!” Ranaweleng shouted back. “Go crawl back to your crazy master! Tell Mahesa Birawa to go find a shaman to cure his twisted brain!”

“You, son of bitch!” barked Saksoko. Still fuming from earlier, he lunged forward, sending a vicious kick toward Ranaweleng’s stomach.

Snarling, Ranaweleng dodged and struck Saksoko’s ribs with his elbow. Saksoko, an experienced fighter, countered with a flying knee to Ranaweleng’s face. But Ranaweleng ducked and jumped aside. Just as he turned to strike Saksoko’s back, a voice rang out:

“Oh, Raden Ranaweleng, why dirty your hands on a wandering monkey like that?! Let this old man Jarot Karsa teach him some manners!”

The voice came from none other than the frail old man who had been pulling weeds. He was Jarot Karsa, servant of the village chief.

Hearing himself called a monkey, Saksoko flew into a rage. He turned and attacked with a long-distance punch aimed at Jarot Karsa’s heart—intending to kill the old man on the spot.

But Jarot Karsa just chuckled. With a flick of his right hand, he sent out a whirlwind of power that smashed into Saksoko’s own strike. The energy rebounded, crashing back into Saksoko—bolstered by Jarot’s attack! The force was incredible!

Saksoko’s body flew from the porch, landing several paces away. He tried to rise—but collapsed again as blood spurted from his mouth!

Kalingundil was stunned. His face darkened. With a roar that shook the ground, he charged at Jarot Karsa.

Jarot dodged. Kalingundil followed with a second attack—his internal energy aimed at crippling the old man’s meridians. Dust and sand swirled wildly. Jarot met the attack with a palm strike. The two forces collided in midair—BOOM!—like a cannon blast!

Jarot staggered slightly, while Kalingundil was flung back but quickly recovered. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. He hadn’t expected the old man’s strength to surpass his own!

Yet blinded by rage, Kalingundil refused to accept defeat. He spread his arms. His hands trembled. Jarot Karsa and Ranaweleng watched him intently.

Kalingundil’s arms, down to his fingertips, turned black.

“Heh… heh…” cackled old Jarot Karsa. “You’re about to show off your Iron Arm Technique, huh?”

Kalingundil was shocked. How could this old man already know his trump card? But he hid his surprise and sneered. “So your eyes still work, old man! But do you know how deadly this Iron Arm strike is?!”

“Enough talk. Come at me, monkey!” Jarot Karsa taunted.

Kalingundil growled. He stood near a porch pillar. With a single strike from his right hand—

CRACK! The thick wooden post snapped. The roof slanted to one side!

Jarot was impressed, but not intimidated. As a seasoned martial artist, he didn’t fear techniques like this.

“Come on then, stray monkey!” he said with a hunch.

Kalingundil launched himself forward, legs unleashing rapid strikes, followed by his iron-black arms. The wind from his blows was sharp enough to sting the skin.

The left arm swung for Jarot’s waist—enough to cleave him in two. The right arm came down on his head, ready to smash it!

But then—

A scream like a wolf’s howl pierced the air! Kalingundil spun midair, gasping for breath, tongue hanging out, eyes bulging. His body writhed for a few moments before blood burst from his mouth—and he went completely still.

Kalingundil had joined his comrade in unconsciousness.

Ranaweleng exhaled deeply. He looked at the two men lying sprawled on the ground, then turned to the old man.

“Master Jarot Karsa… do you know who this Mahesa Birawa is?”

Jarot Karsa shook his head. “Doesn’t matter who he is, Raden. What matters is this—sooner or later, he’ll come here to settle the score. We must be ready.”

Ranaweleng nodded. “I don’t want to see these two clowns in front of my house any longer. Get rid of them!”

The old man cackled. “No worries… I’ll sweep them away from your doorstep, Raden.”

With two casual kicks, Jarot Karsa sent the bodies of Kalingundil and Saksoko flying like rag dolls—landing beyond the fence of the yard.