Sastra Wijaya, who had believed victory was already within his grasp, found his confidence shaken when the young warrior before him suddenly increased his speed to an almost unbelievable level. His brows furrowed, disbelief flashing across his sharp eyes. How could someone so young, whose age was barely a seventh of his own, possibly match his movement?In his youth, when he was about Arya’s age, Sastra Wijaya had only just entered the lowest stage of the Earthly Warrior realm. Yet this boy—this insolent upstart—was already dancing with him blow for blow.“How… how can this be?!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the ruined courtyard. “How can you possibly match my speed?”Arya smirked faintly. “If you wish to talk, old man, then pay first—with your life!”Without hesitation, Arya darted forward, a blur of shadow and light. His sudden strike caught Sastra Wijaya off balance, his defense faltering for the briefest instant.But experience spanning over a century was not easily undone

A faint smirk crossed Arya’s lips as he calmly faced Sastra Wijaya’s seething anger. Lifting a single finger, he tapped the side of his own temple and said with quiet confidence,“Let us see, old man—whether what rules a battle is the strength of one’s body, or the wisdom that lies within the mind.”“You insolent brat! Are you mocking me?!” Sastra Wijaya’s face darkened with fury. He stomped his right foot into the ground with such force that the earth itself quivered. Dry grass and dust burst into the air around him. His pride, as the master of the Hellblade Sect, could not tolerate the insinuation that he lacked wit—even if it had come as a gesture rather than words.With a guttural snarl, Sastra Wijaya extended his arm. A radiant blade of condensed energy erupted from his palm, its brilliance clashing with the first blush of dawn rising over the eastern sky. The weapon hummed with the power of a hundred storms, the ground beneath him rippling from the unleas

Arya knew the truth—he had no chance of winning until he discovered which among the three was the real Sastra Wijaya. No matter how fierce his attacks or how refined his sword techniques, unless he found the original body, this battle would only drag him closer to defeat. He needed to end this quickly—before Prince Kalasekti arrived.The Dragon God’s Eyes blazed within him, granting him the vision to follow the impossible speed of the three dark figures that circled him. Were this a duel against only one foe, Arya would never have needed to invoke the dragon’s power, but facing three enemies—all possessing the same strength as a late Earth Realm warrior—left him with no other choice.He gathered his breath, drawing upon every strand of elemental essence within his meridians. His body became lighter, his aura sharper. Then, in one precise instant, he increased his speed beyond what his enemies could match. The Four Element Blade in his hands flared, and with a swift step he lunged, aim

The arrival of that vast, humming energy did not touch only King Wirabhumi. Even Ki Mangkubumi, standing outside his sect, felt the tremor in the air — an unmistakable signature that the force belonged to Prince Kalasekti and his retinue. The head of the Heavenly Peak sect scanned the landscape and lifted his eyes toward the sky, searching for a shape or silhouette that might give form to the power; yet the heavens showed nothing, no visible host, no banner rippling in the wind. Only the raw, resonant pressure of presence.Nearby, Pandu Dewanata, whose life-force had been woven into Arya’s body as part of the ritual to bind the four elements, also perceived the surge of energy. He did not allow himself to be distracted. With steady hands and an immovable will, he continued the delicate work of anchoring those elemental cores inside Arya, ensuring each one nested where it should — earth, water, fire and wind braided together into a single, disciplined lattice.Fear prickled through man

The duel between Ki Mangkubumi and Sastra Wijaya unfurled like a tempest come to earth — fierce, precise, and laden with histories older than the men who fought. From a distance, Resi Wiyasa, Rengga, and a handful of soldiers could only stare; any attempt to intervene would not only be pointless but dangerously disruptive. To aid would be to break the fragile thread of concentration Ki Mangkubumi needed to hold the contest on equal footing.Worry etched itself on Resi Wiyasa’s lined face. Rengga’s jaw tightened; both feared the worst. Sastra Wijaya was no ordinary rival — he was the feared master of the Hellblade current, one who had chosen allegiance with Prince Kalasekti and taken an oath that bound him to darkness. By rank and reputation Ki Mangkubumi should have been outmatched. Yet the old master stood unbowed.What had begun as a display of early advantage for Sastra Wijaya had, to everyone’s astonishment, been reversed. Where at first Ki Mangkubumi