Chapter 6: The Axe

For all the strange years Wiro Saksana had spent on the peak of Mount Gede with his eccentric master, never once had he heard Eyang Sinto Gendeng sing. But that day, under the sharp sky and wind-whipped silence, she sang—and the words stirred something deep within him.

The tune was off-key, the voice aged and quivering, but the lyrics carved their way into Wiro’s heart like the tip of a dagger.

“Seventeen years have passed,” she sang. “And the mountaintop remains the same. The sky is still blue. The sun and moon still gaze longingly at one another.”

Wiro’s chest tightened. Seventeen years have made the old even older. That line, surely, referred to his master herself. But then—Seventeen years turned a red-faced infant into a gallant young man. Was she talking about him?

He looked up. Just then, Sinto Gendeng looked down.

For a fleeting instant, Wiro caught something in her eyes—an expression he had never seen before. Sorrow. And behind that, something heavier… regret? Longing?

Before he could speak, a roar shattered the stillness.

“What are you waiting for, you half-wit?! I’m thirsty and you’re just standing there like a stump! Want me to piss on your head to wake you up?! Throw the ladle already!”

Startled out of his thoughts, Wiro hurled the coconut ladle full of water into the air. It soared upward in a perfect arc, not spilling a single drop.

“Well done, Wiro! Beautiful!” Sinto Gendeng caught the ladle with her left hand and drank deeply, her withered throat moving with each swallow. She finished it in one long gulp.

“Now take it back!”

She tossed the ladle down, but as Wiro reached out to catch it, she made a sudden gesture with her right hand. A burst of wind struck the ladle midair, swerving it violently off course—straight into his chest!

“You really are nuts!” Wiro cursed, crossing his arms to block the blow. The ladle shattered against him, its wooden body splitting and the handle snapping in two.

At that very moment, Eyang Sinto Gendeng descended from the tree.

She landed soundlessly. No dent, no footprint—despite leaping from a branch nearly four fathoms high. A testament to her legendary lightness skill.

Now the master and disciple stood face to face.

Wiro noticed something in her gaze again. A tension. A storm gathering behind those old, deep-set eyes.

She stepped back slowly. Her feet spread shoulder-width apart. Arms raised forward. Her lips murmured strange syllables. The ground beneath her feet began to tremble.

And then, inch by inch, her feet sank into the earth. Three centimeters deep. Her body shook as if channeling the energy of the mountain itself. Sweat poured down her wrinkled, obsidian skin.

Then—Wiro blinked. Her hands had turned bone-white. Her ten fingernails shimmered like polished silver, glowing with a terrifying brilliance.

“Master!” Wiro shouted. “Are you trying to roast me with the Sunbeam Strike?!”

Sinto Gendeng did not answer. Her jaw clenched, her face contorted into something almost demonic.

Wiro knew better than to wait.

He planted his feet wide, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. His lips moved in silent invocation. His body rooted itself into the ground like stone, unmoving, unbreakable.

“CIIAAAAAATTT!!!”

Sinto Gendeng’s screech split the sky. Her fists lunged forward—and from her palms, two blazing beams of white light surged out, crackling, roaring, searing through the air like the wrath of the heavens.

At the same moment, Wiro roared back.

“HEYYYAAAAA!!!”

He thrust his arms forward. His sleeves billowed as energy erupted from his limbs. This was the famed technique: Storm Fortress Overwhelms the Ocean. A move of both defense and offense, capable of withstanding the most violent of attacks.

The two energies clashed midair with a thunderous shockwave. Light exploded in every direction. Sand and dust flew like a cyclone. Leaves and branches were ripped from trees. The mountain shook beneath them. The sky itself trembled.

When the world settled once more, Wiro saw his master—her legs sunken ten centimeters into the ground, her face drenched with sweat, her eyes narrowed in grim focus.

Then he looked down.

His own legs were buried up to the calves. His body was dripping cold sweat, trembling from the sheer power of the clash.

“Well done, Wiro… Well done indeed…” said Sinto Gendeng. But her voice was not joyful. Her furrowed face, glistening with perspiration, carried a strange, unspoken dread.

“Now brace yourself for the Cold Wind Strike!”

Without warning, she raised her arms, palms wide, and closed her eyes once more.

The air around them turned cool… then cold… then impossibly frigid. Frost kissed Wiro’s skin. His bones ached. His teeth began to chatter. The ground beneath him turned to ice.

Even a minute longer in that frozen hell, and he’d have become a statue of flesh and frost.

But Wiro fought back. With a thunderous yell, he spun his arms. Wind burst forth like a cyclone.

This was the Whirling Storm.

The cold wind clashed with the swirling gales. Leaves that had frozen midair now flew wildly. Rains of branches and debris scattered across the mountain. Smaller trees were uprooted. The larger ones stood bare and battered.

Sinto Gendeng staggered. Her black robes flapped violently. Still, she laughed.

“Crazy! Truly crazy!”

She leapt back nine fathoms, drew a hairpin from her skull, and hurled it like lightning.

Wiro dodged just in time. The pin struck a tree and split it clean in half, sending it crashing down in splinters.

The cold vanished. The wind settled. Silence returned to Mount Gede.

Wiro looked up—and saw his master gripping a bizarre weapon.

“Do you see this axe, Wiro?” she said softly. “Do you see it?”

Wiro nodded, eyes narrowed. It was a twin-bladed axe, nearly the size of a brick. Its handle gleamed ivory-white—perhaps carved from real tusk. Along the shaft were six tiny holes. The base of the handle was shaped like a dragon’s head, mouth agape.

“This time, you won’t dodge my strike,” said Sinto Gendeng.

“Master… have you truly gone mad? You’d kill your own disciple?!”

She cackled. “Of course I’m mad! Otherwise why would they call me Sinto Gendeng?! And you—you fool—you still don’t know what Gendeng means!”

Wiro stood ready, eyes locked on the weapon. Whatever that axe was, he could feel its weight in the air. The pressure of the dragon’s breath, the hum of deadly intent.

“I’ll use this axe for three consecutive strikes,” Sinto Gendeng declared. “If you can withstand them, you’ll live. If not… then prepare to die a spectacularly stupid death!”

Wiro clenched his jaw. He opened his mouth to speak—

“Prepare your stance, Wiro!” bellowed the madwoman.