2025-12-18 08:11:53
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The Poisoned Strike
“They move with impossible speed!” Bayu shouted, his voice strained as he parried yet another flying sword that came whistling toward his head. The blades seemed endless, arcing through the air in a relentless storm of steel that forced him to stay on constant guard. But defending against the projectiles was only half his burden—two masked figures pressed him from either side, their own swords flashing in quick, precise thrusts that left him with barely a moment to breathe.Across the clearing, Aji pushed his body to its limits, his feet barely touching the ground as he darted between the flying blades that pursued him like vengeful spirits. Each time he evaded a strike, he spun to deliver a counterblow to the two assassins who had closed in on him, their movements coordinated so perfectly they seemed to share a single mind. His muscles burned with exertion, but he did not slow—not when failure would mean death for himself and those he held dear.With a sudden burst of strength, Aji u
The Flying Sword Formation
The two figures stood frozen in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief as their carefully aimed strikes—blows that should have carved deep gashes into their foe’s flesh—slammed against what felt like a wall of solid steel. The impact sent sharp vibrations up their arms, and when they pulled their blades back to strike again, they saw with mounting fury that the edges had been dulled almost to uselessness.It was then that Aji called upon the ancient technique his ancestor had bequeathed to him in a vision, the night he had fallen into a deep slumber after vanquishing Prince Dananjaya’s army. In that dream, his great-grandfather—once a revered Duke of the eastern marches—had shown him the secrets of energy projection, teaching him how to shape his inner power into tangible bolts of force. With barely a thought, Aji unleashed a torrent of these energy strikes, sending them streaking through the air toward all four of his opponents in rapid succession.The four figures clad in b
Aji vs The Four Black Butchers
Fifty strides beyond the village’s outer edge—where the fields of golden rice gave way to wild grasses and scattered shrubs—they found the path the innkeeper had described. Two ancient banyan trees stood like sentinels at its entrance, their massive trunks twisted together in a embrace as old as the land itself, their roots spreading across the earth like gnarled fingers. After a brief conference, they urged their horses into a swift gallop, leaving a thick cloud of dust to dance and swirl in their wake as they vanished into the green distance. Time slipped away like water through their fingers, and two hours passed before the trees began to crowd closer, forming the dark mouth of a forest that seemed to drink the light around it. From the road outside, the woods looked impenetrable—their canopies so dense that only thin shafts of sunlight managed to pierce through, painting shifting patterns of gold and shadow on the ground below. Bargowo’s brow furrowed with d
The Footpath
Bargowo turned his broad frame toward the inn’s doorway, casting a glance out to where Aji stood beneath the fading light of dusk. With deliberate grace, he raised three fingers into the air—a silent signal that was met with a firm nod of understanding from Aji, whose amber eyes held the quiet focus of a man accustomed to leading through action rather than words. “We shall take three rooms for the night, good woman,” Bargowo said, his voice deep and steady as he stepped back into the warm glow of the inn’s entryway. “What is the price for such shelter?” The innkeeper—her face still bright with the relief of knowing she faced no threat—looked up at him with a gentle smile. “For how many nights will you be staying, Sir?” “Only this night,” Bargowo replied, reaching into the leather pouch at his hip. He drew out a single gold coin, its surface gleaming with the soft luster of pure metal, and offered it to her without hesitation. The wo
Toward the Imperial Capital
The night air of the Duchy of Tanjung Rejo hung soft and still around them, scented with the perfume of night-blooming frangipani and the cool breath of the distant mountains. Ratih leaned against Aji’s side, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his palm as she spoke, her voice a whisper woven into the fabric of the dark.“It is the way you hold me—like a precious jewel you would shield from every storm, yet also like a partner whose warmth brings light to your own heart—that binds me to you so tightly I could never bear to let go. You are, truly, the kind of husband every woman in all the realms might dare to dream of, Aji,” she said, her dark eyes shining with a love so pure it seemed to glow in the moonlight.Aji’s gaze lifted from her face to the heavens above, where the moon hung like a polished disc of pearl and the stars scattered across the velvet canopy like shards of crystal. His expression was thoughtful, shadowed by memories that still clung to him like morning mist. “I
A Romantic Night
The velvet curtain of dusk had long since yielded to the dominion of night, and within the grand halls of Tanjung Rejo’s noble estate, a weighty conversation unfurled beneath the glow of flickering candelabras, their flames dancing like golden sprites against walls adorned with tapestries of ancient valor.“Then who, I ask you, shall hold sway over these lands when Your Grace departs on the morrow?” Yoga inquired, his voice carrying the quiet reverence of one who understood the gravity of the moment. His gaze, steady yet tempered with humility, remained fixed upon the figure seated upon the carved mahogany chair at the room’s heart.“To you, Yoga, I entrust the governance of the Duchy of Tanjung Rejo for the time being,” declared Duke Hanggareksa, his tone firm as polished steel, yet laced with the warmth of unwavering trust. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face—features honed by years of leading his people through peace and peril alike.“I fear I might stumble in judgm
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