THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE

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Arga’s eyes slowly opened. The first thing he saw was a ceiling made of palm leaves.

He could still feel the throbbing pain in his back. Slowly, he tried shifting his body to sit on the bamboo cot. A creaking sound came from the old bamboo bed.

His eyes caught sight of a cup made from bamboo, filled with some kind of liquid. Steam was still rising from it, a sign that the drink had just been brewed.

From outside the hut came the sound of wood being chopped.

With all his strength, while enduring the pain, Arga walked while holding onto the wall of the hut.

His face twisted in pain. But his curiosity outweighed the pain, and he kept moving toward the door.

When he reached the doorway, Arga was startled. The hut he was in stood high atop a tree. His eyes looked down to where the sound of wood chopping came from.

Thin smoke rose beside a bald-headed man who was busy chopping firewood.

That thin smoke came from food being cooked by the bald man.

“Who is he… Could he be the one who saved me last night?” Arga wondered.

The bald, elderly man turned toward the hut. Quickly, Arga ducked so he wouldn’t be seen watching him. But his sudden movement made his wounds scrape against the bamboo wall. Arga let out a low cry of pain.

“Hehehe, young man… You think I don’t know you’re already awake!?” the old man said as he kept chopping wood.

Arga was startled that the bald man knew he was spying on him.

“Impressive… Who is he, really?” Arga thought as he stood back up, grimacing in pain when his back tightened from crouching earlier.

“If you’re awake, drink the water in that cup so your wounds will heal faster!” the old man said while continuing to chop wood.

He set down his axe and stirred the mushroom and vegetable stew that was nearly cooked. For a moment, the old man glanced up toward the hut above. Then, without any protection on his hands, he lifted the iron pan he always used for cooking.

He placed the pan on a bamboo table as if he didn’t feel the heat at all. Then swiftly, the old man poured the food into a bowl made from a large coconut shell.

Rice was already laid out neatly on a banana leaf. The old man immediately called out to Arga.

“Young man! Come down! Breakfast first!”

Arga, who had just finished drinking the bitter liquid from the cup, slowly walked outside and looked down.

“How am I supposed to get down from here, Grandpa?” Arga asked while glancing around nervously.

“Jump!” the old man replied casually while feeding himself with a wooden spoon he had carved.

“Hah!? Jump!? Are you serious, old man!? You’re trying to kill me!?” Arga snapped.

The old man didn’t answer, too busy eating.

“If you don’t hurry down, I’ll eat all this food myself. Quickly, get down here!” the old man shouted, ignoring Arga’s panic as he searched for a way down.

Then Arga’s sharp eyes spotted something at the edge of the hut’s terrace— a rope. He pulled it.

From below, a wooden cage big enough for one person rose up. Arga smiled faintly.

“This old man is clever,” Arga thought as he walked toward the wooden cage beside the hut. It had been there all along.

Arga simply hadn’t noticed earlier, panicked as he was. That was actually the way down.

He opened the small door, stepped into the wooden cage, and slowly lowered himself down using the rope.

Arga sat in front of the old man, who had just finished eating. After drinking water with a coconut dipper, the old man resumed chopping wood.

Arga ate while watching the old man work. When he tasted the rice mixed with mushrooms and vegetables, he paused for a moment.

“Hm, this is delicious!” Arga thought, then quickly devoured the food.

After finishing, Arga approached the old man. The old man turned toward him, his face looking anything but friendly.

“Young man! After eating, wash your dishes! You didn’t pay, and now you just show up and eat my food so casually,” the old man said, making Arga stop in his tracks.

With an annoyed face, Arga gathered all the dishes and carried them to a small stream behind the big tree where the old man lived. He was still limping as the pain lingered.

Looking around, Arga realized the place was surrounded by dense forest. He grew confused about the old man’s choice of residence.

“Where am I, really… Did anyone else from the Golden Step Sect survive besides me? Kinanti… I don’t know what happened to her…” Arga thought as he washed the dishes.

After finishing, he returned to where the old man had been chopping wood. But the bald elder was gone. Arga looked around in every direction, but the old man seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Suddenly, a small stone flew straight at Arga’s head.

Thud!

The young man’s head was struck, leaving a small lump.

“Ouch! Damn it!” Arga groaned, rubbing his head. Though the stone had hit hard, there was no blood.

“Your response is so slow, you didn’t even notice an attack! Are you really a disciple of the Golden Step Sect!?” a voice came from right behind him. Arga turned around.

“Grandpa! What are you doing!? That hurt!” Arga shouted angrily.

The old man laughed shamelessly.

“Hah, so this is the level of Golden Step disciples? Pathetic! They say it’s the top sect in the Wind Country!? Yet you scream like a baby just from a pebble, hahaha! No wonder you were all overwhelmed in a single night!” the old man mocked, making Arga even more upset.

But he didn’t dare curse at him, afraid the old man would throw more stones.

“I am indeed a disciple of the Golden Step Sect. But about being the number one sect in the Wind Country, I don’t really know. Within the sect itself, I’ve only been stuck in the Basic Sword Swing stage for two years,” Arga said, rubbing the lump on his head.

The old man’s eyes bulged wide.

“What!? Two years at the Basic Sword Swing stage!? What kind of trash is the Golden Step raising!? No wonder the sect was destroyed overnight. Its disciples are all idiots like you!” the old man’s words were harsh in Arga’s ears.

“Were there no survivors besides me, Grandpa? I still remember a little of what happened that night…” Arga asked cautiously.

Suddenly, the bald old man stood up. His eyes widened.

Arga shuddered at the look in his eyes.

“That night, your head! I’ve been tending to your body for more than seven days, and you say it was just last night!? Want me to throw another rock at your bald head!?” the old man snapped.

“Seven days!?” Arga asked in disbelief. The old man glared at him again, making Arga grin sheepishly.

“How could I have been unconscious for that long, Grandpa?” Arga finally asked, truly curious.

“When I found you, you had lost a lot of blood. I prepared medicines for you to drink and applied them to your wounds so you could cling to life. Over these seven days, you managed to escape death and return to the living. It was thanks to the medicine I gave you. Be grateful to this old man, boy—because of me, you’re still breathing fresh air! Hahaha!” the old man laughed heartily.

Arga smiled awkwardly, unsure whether to feel grateful or irritated at his behavior.

“I am Arga, and I thank you, Grandpa. May I know the name of my savior?” Arga asked respectfully, bowing slightly.

The old man grinned broadly.

“I have a title in the martial world. Just call me Priest Barata Kala, Arga,” answered the old man named Barata Kala.

“Grandpa Barata, do you know who the villain was that attacked the Golden Step Sect?” Arga asked, full of curiosity.