All Chapters of THE GOD'S OF CHOSEN WARRIOR : Chapter 311
- Chapter 320
408 chapters
Tournament XI
And so, the match began. With complete confidence, Subrata was the first to move. He lunged forward, launching a barrage of punches from both fists. Yet Rangga, calm and composed, evaded each strike with graceful precision. Occasionally, he would deflect one or two blows—not with the intent to counter, but to subtly alter the direction of Subrata’s attack, making his rhythm falter.The crowd’s excitement surged. A few spectators began edging closer to Aji, who stood at the edge of the arena. They were gamblers—faces tense, eyes gleaming with greed—hoping the handsome young man would give some clue as to who would emerge victorious. None of them had yet placed their bets, and they sought an omen, a whisper, anything from Aji that could tilt fortune in their favor. If he hinted at who would advance to face him in the final, their purses would grow heavy with gold.But Aji had already read their intentions. Though he had discerned who held the upper hand between Rangga and Subrata, not a
Tournament XII
Rangga moved like a shadow, weaving through the storm of strikes that rained upon him. Each time Subrata’s fists came crashing down, Rangga twisted or bent away, and when the timing allowed, he countered—swift, precise, and deadly.The duel of bare hands unfolded with ferocity. Every movement was sharp as lightning, every blow heavy with intent. The two warriors were no longer testing each other’s strength—they were fully engaged, pouring both body and spirit into the contest. The arena crackled with tension, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath.Each time Rangga parried, the strain sent jolts of pain up Subrata’s wounded arm. Blood once again seeped through the reopened gash, glistening red against his tanned skin. The injury that should have healed now throbbed with agony. Subrata grimaced, but pride forced him onward. Every collision between their hands drew a hiss of pain he tried in vain to suppress.Rangga noticed it—the subtle tightening of S
Tournament XIII
No one in the audience could have predicted Rangga’s defeat. The entire arena fell into stunned silence as his body was hurled off the stage. Even Ratih and Aji were left wide-eyed, disbelief freezing their expressions as the dust settled.A heavy sigh of disappointment swept through the crowd. Everyone had expected a grand finale between Aji and Rangga—two warriors of equal strength and pride. But fate, it seemed, had chosen a different path.“What a shame,” Aji murmured under his breath, the words carrying the weight of genuine regret. He had been certain that Rangga would claim victory.Rangga approached, his steps steady despite the loss. When he reached them, a faint but warm smile curved his lips. “I’m sure you’ll win tomorrow,” he said, his tone calm but sincere. “In terms of skill, you’re far superior to him. But be careful—he’s a cunning man.”Aji met Rangga’s gaze and smiled back, his confidence unshaken. “Don’t worry,” he repl
The Arrival of the Sect Master
Subrata’s eyes widened in unease as he stared at the gleaming needles neatly arranged upon the small wooden table. The mere sight of them sent a chill crawling through his spine. His mind, restless and unwilling to surrender to pain, began racing—searching for another way to heal his wound without having to endure the needle’s bite.“Is there no other way, healer?” he asked anxiously, his tone heavy with frustration. “Tomorrow I must fight in the final match. If you stitch my wound, will I even be able to move my arm?”The old physician sighed, running a wrinkled hand over his beard as he examined the torn flesh once more. “Without stitching, I fear it will be impossible for it to heal by tomorrow, young man. The wound must be sealed, otherwise it will fester, and the bleeding will not stop.”Subrata frowned deeply. “And if we don’t sew it shut—can it still close on its own?”“There is another way,” the healer admitted, “but it will take time—week
Final
“Very well—if that is your decision. But do not come to regret it when you lose that arm. And remember: I never forced you to step into the ring tomorrow.”Subrata’s face was steady with the stubborn pride that had defined him for years. “I understand, Master. I have weighed the risks and the costs. I only ask that you lend me your full support.”“As long as the disciples of the Black Tiger Sect walk the righteous path, you shall have my support,” the old man replied. He rose slowly, the joints of his hands creaking like weathered wood, and moved to leave. “I will book a room and remain here tonight.”“So you will stay to see me fight?” Subrata asked, a spark of consolation in his voice.The elder only inclined his head, a measured, almost paternal gesture, then stepped out into the corridor and vanished into the night.---Dawn broke with a pale, breathless hush over the tournament grounds. Aji, Ratih, and Rangga departed t
Humiliated
Aji burst into laughter, his voice echoing across the courtyard as though he had just heard the funniest jest in the world. “Better prove those lofty words of yours,” he said mockingly. “Or perhaps you’re all bark and no bite?”Subrata said nothing. His expression turned cold as he steadied his stance—feet firm, body balanced, breath controlled. Then, without a single wasted motion, he launched forward to strike.Aji’s lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. His taunt had worked perfectly. He could see the flicker of fury in Subrata’s eyes, the tightening of his jaw, and he knew the man was already losing control. The roaring cheers from the spectators only fueled that anger, pushing Subrata into his trap even further.The elder from the Black Tiger Sect moved swiftly, his first strike sharp and precise—but Aji parried it with ease. Still, Subrata didn’t let up. He rained down a relentless barrage of attacks, each blow aiming to break through Aji’s calm defense. His movements carried
Judgment
Subrata vaulted back onto the stage, his movements heavy with fury and humiliation. The old warrior’s pride had been torn to shreds, his dignity crushed beneath the laughter and whispers of the crowd. Never, in all his years walking the path of the martial world, had he imagined that such disgrace would befall him—let alone at the hands of a man young enough to be his own son.His breath came ragged and fast, chest heaving with every intake of air. Rage burned within him like a storm that refused to die.“Can’t accept your defeat, Elder?” Aji’s calm voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. His tone was mocking yet steady, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “If you’re truly that dissatisfied, then come—attack me. I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”“Curse you!” Subrata spat, his voice hoarse with fury. “I’ll make you suffer before I tear your soul from your body!”From his seat near the stage, the headmaster of the Black Tiger Sect exhaled heavily. His aged eyes dar
The Tale of Jayabaya
When the award ceremony concluded, Aji descended from the stage with quiet composure. The crowd’s cheers still echoed faintly behind him, yet his expression remained calm, almost distant. Waiting at the foot of the stage were Ratih and Rangga, both beaming with pride at his victory.Before they could leave the arena, a familiar voice—aged yet firm—called out from behind them.“Wait, young man!”It was Jayabaya, the venerable master of the Black Tiger Sect. The elderly man hurried toward them, his robes flowing behind him like the tail of a shadow.Aji turned to meet him, a faint smile softening his otherwise guarded demeanor.“Is there something you need, Master Jayabaya?” he asked respectfully. “We were just about to return to the inn.”Jayabaya’s weathered face warmed with a gentle smile. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you—privately, if you don’t mind. When might you have time to spare?”Aji glanced at Ratih and Rangga. “You two go ahead. I’ll catch up shortly.” He handed
Slander
“Where will you go after this, Rangga? Why don’t you come with us instead?” Aji asked, his tone gentle yet filled with genuine concern.Rangga did not respond right away. His gaze turned distant, the flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes as he considered the road ahead—one paved with uncertainty and ghosts from his past.“Where are you two heading?” he finally asked in return, as though needing to measure their path before deciding his own.“We’re traveling to the Dragon Sword Sect,” Aji replied calmly. “Would you like to join us?”At the mention of that name, Rangga’s expression instantly changed. His face stiffened, and for a fleeting moment, the warmth in his eyes was replaced by a shadow of pain.“What’s wrong, Rangga?” Aji asked, noticing the sudden shift in his companion’s demeanor. “You look startled. Did something happen between you and the Dragon Sword Sect?”“It’s nothing. I just—” Rangga’s words faltered, caught somewhere between truth and restraint.“Say it,” Ratih inter
Unease
Rangga drew several long, steadying breaths before he finally spoke. His voice trembled faintly at first, burdened by years of unspoken memory.“My father was a strict man,” he began, the words tasting of old resentment. “A leader with a heart forged in iron and discipline. But for all his strength, he had one flaw—he trusted too easily the words of others, even when no proof stood behind them.”Ratih leaned closer, her patience thinning. “And what, exactly, were you accused of that made him cast you out of the sect?” she demanded. “Don’t hide behind riddles, Brother. Tell me everything.”Rangga’s gaze drifted downward, shadowed by remembrance. “Very well,” he said softly. “It began with a single lie. I was accused of stealing—from one of the village homes near our sect’s grounds. The accusers were none other than Sentono, Barda, Wicaksono, Dirman, and Janaka.” He paused, the names spilling from his lips like poison remembered.Ratih’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But those men… they’r