Chapter 3: The Green Centipede Strike

Mahesa Birawa—also known as Suranyali—snapped his eyes open from his shallow sleep the moment he heard the pounding of horse hooves entering the courtyard. He rose swiftly and strode to the front door. His wide-open eyes now bulged in shock. He leapt down to the ground.

“What happened to you two?!” he bellowed. The question was almost a roar.

The two horses came to a stop. The riders, Kalingundil and Saksoko, dismounted slowly. Their bodies were full of blood. Both of their faces were deathly pale. Seeing this, Mahesa Birawa instantly understood—they had sustained grave internal injuries.

Kalingundil hunched over, clutching his chest, his vision still blurry. Saksoko barely touched the ground before collapsing in a heap, vomiting blood, and falling unconscious!

Mahesa Birawa lunged forward and caught Saksoko. From his belt, he pulled out a small pill and slipped it into the unconscious man’s mouth. Another pill he handed to Kalingundil.

“Swallow it—quick! Then focus on calming your breath and blood flow!”

Kalingundil obeyed, then sat cross-legged on the ground to begin regulating his internal energy, channeling it to the area where he’d been struck. An hour later, though still bedridden, Kalingundil had regained consciousness and could speak.

“Now!” Mahesa Birawa snapped, slamming a fist onto the table. “Tell me what happened, Kalingundil!”

The warrior inhaled deeply and rubbed his chest before beginning his account. As Mahesa Birawa listened, his blood boiled with rage. His face darkened to a thunderous black, and his thick mustache twitched with fury. His bulging eyes looked as if they might have popped out.

“Kalingundil! Prepare my horse! Call Majineng and Krocoweti. You three are coming with me to track down that accursed man! Move!”

Kalingundil wasted no time. Moments later, four riders thundered out of the compound, raising dust clouds behind them. Mahesa Birawa rode at the front like a raging tempest.

Meanwhile, the elderly warrior Jarot Karsa stroked his beard. Without turning to Ranaweleng, who stood beside him, eyes sharp and gaze fixed ahead, he murmured,

“We were right, Raden. They’re here. That man in front—he must be Mahesa Birawa…”

Ranaweleng looked forward and sighed internally. In all his time as Village Head, he had never faced a situation this dire! He hadn’t even finished speaking to Suci earlier when Jarot Karsa called him out to warn of the approaching riders. By the time Mahesa Birawa arrived in the yard, Suci was already standing behind her husband.

Mahesa Birawa reigned on his horse, his glare ravenous with fury, locked on Ranaweleng. Behind him, Kalingundil leaned forward to whisper.

“That old man standing near the post—that’s the bastard who took down me and Saksoko. Be careful, Mahesa. His skill is terrifying…”

“Shut your foul mouth!” Mahesa Birawa barked. “I don’t need your advice!”

Kalingundil bit his lip and stayed silent. Hatred for the two figures on the porch—especially Jarot Karsa—boiled in his veins.

Mahesa Birawa’s gaze flicked briefly to Suci standing behind her husband. The fire to possess her, unrealized and ever-burning, ignited his wrath even more. His chest felt like it might explode. Though she was married and already a mother, Suci appeared even more radiant than before, young and impossibly beautiful.

His eyes now turned back to Jarot Karsa, pausing briefly to glare at Ranaweleng.

“You senile dog on the porch—come down and accept your death!” Mahesa Birawa’s voice thundered like a war drum, powered by a peak-level inner energy.

Jarot Karsa smirked. With one fluid motion, he leapt down from the porch and landed lightly on the ground, a few paces from Mahesa Birawa’s horse. His movement was feather-light. That same mocking smile tugged at his lips.

“So this is the infamous Mahesa Birawa? The man who lusts after another’s wife? You’re either mad—or worse! Has your monkey here told you to go find a shaman to fix your broken brain?!”

Mahesa Birawa trembled from the crown of his head to his toes.

“You insolent old mutt, today you’ll pay with your life!”

He hurled himself from his horse, hands already striking forward midair. Twin waves of force surged toward Jarot Karsa like a raging storm. Sand and dust exploded.

With a sharp cry, Jarot Karsa launched himself three spears high into the air. The devastating blast passed beneath his feet. Just as he prepared to counterattack, Ranaweleng shouted,

“Step back, Father Jarot! Let me deal with this demon!”

“No, Raden,” Jarot called mid-air, “Let this old man give him a lesson. No need for you to bother. In a move or two, I’ll sweep him out of the yard!”

Mahesa Birawa clenched his jaw. His fists moved in rapid succession. Wind howled as it surged toward Jarot Karsa. The old man met it with a bare-handed strike of his own.

“GLLAAARRR!!”

The explosion was deafening—like cannon fire. Ears rang and nearly burst. Mahesa Birawa staggered but remained standing. Jarot Karsa, however, landed sitting on the ground, drenched in cold sweat!

Ranaweleng’s eyes widened. Even Suci gasped from behind her husband, fearing for the old man. Mahesa Birawa’s internal energy was far beyond anything they’d anticipated—even greater than Jarot Karsa’s!

Knowing he’d been overpowered, Jarot Karsa leapt up and launched a furious counterattack. His hands blurred, striking and sweeping in an unpredictable barrage. For a time, Mahesa Birawa found himself on the defensive, buffeted by strikes whose very wind stung his eyes.

Forced to respond, Mahesa Birawa began to move faster. His form blurred like a shadow. With each exchanged strike, Jarot Karsa began to feel the increasing pressure, forcing him to guard more carefully. After several more moves, their bodies vanished in a cloud of dust and speed—almost invisible to the eye.

Then—suddenly—Jarot Karsa, letting out a shrill battle cry, moved faster than sight. He angled his lightweight body, thrusting his left elbow forward. Mahesa Birawa shifted sideways, but Jarot Karsa’s other hand was already there.

“BUK!!”

Mahesa Birawa reeled back two paces. His mouth twisted in pain from the blow that struck his chest. He immediately circulated his energy to that area.

Jarot Karsa laughed. “If you don’t get out of here with your filthy dogs, don’t blame me when I bash your face into a rotten mango!”

Mahesa Birawa’s expression darkened. His legs spread apart, left arm extended forward, right arm raised behind his head. His temple pulsed. Slowly, his right hand turned green and began to tremble.

“You decrepit fool!” Mahesa Birawa growled. “Do you recognize this strike?”

Jarot Karsa frowned. His eyes focused on the green hue growing in Mahesa Birawa’s right hand. Though he had nearly seventy years of martial experience, his heart skipped. He had never seen a strike quite like it.

But Ranaweleng recognized it—and panic flashed across his face. He whispered, using the technique of voice projection:

“Jarot—be careful! That’s the Green Centipede Strike! It’s deadly—and poisoned!”

Jarot Karsa buried his shock.

The Green Centipede Strike…

He could hardly believe it even while witnessing it. As far as he knew, only one person had ever mastered this devastating technique: the hermit Sage Tapak Gajah, who lived on the slopes of Mount Lawu. Was Mahesa Birawa his disciple?

He narrowed his brow and tried to scoff. “So it’s the Green Centipede. What’s there to fear?”

But Mahesa Birawa’s eyes flickered. He knows the technique?!

“Then why haven’t you dropped to your knees yet, old dog?!”

“Only a rabid monkey would kneel before you! Take this!” Jarot Karsa struck with a final bare-handed attack.

A half-spear length from Mahesa Birawa’s face, the old man’s deadly wind approached—but Mahesa Birawa unleashed his green-glowing fist!

A storm-like blast surged forward, glowing green. The old man’s attack was shattered and rebounded toward him!

Jarot Karsa leapt to the side—but not fast enough.

The green energy struck his waist. Suci screamed and covered her face. The old man screamed as well, his body collapsing and convulsing, his skin turning a sickly green. He writhed once… then fell still, lifeless and twisted.

“You savage demon!” Ranaweleng bellowed. “He had no quarrel with you! Why did you murder him?!”

Mahesa Birawa laughed coldly. “You’ll be joining him soon, Ranaweleng! But I’m kind enough to give you a chance to run. Stay, and death awaits!”

“I’d rather die than yield to a devil like you!” cried Ranaweleng, charging forward.