THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE

The Lantern Festival

Arga returned first to the inn, which stood not far from the heart of the Golden Step Sect. After a long day of battle and exhaustion, he went straight to his room. The quiet space felt like a brief escape from the world outside. When he finished bathing and changing his clothes, a sudden knock echoed from the door.

Still buttoning his shirt, Arga opened it slightly.

“Who is it?” he asked flatly.

“It’s me, young master—Lastri,” a soft feminine voice answered.

Arga opened the door wider. He was still in the middle of dressing, and as the light from the hallway spilled in, part of his bare, muscular torso became visible.

Lastri’s face flushed instantly. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she forgot how to breathe. His body—sculpted from years of discipline and training—was powerful but not bulky, the kind of strength that radiated quiet danger. His abdomen was defined, the muscles shifting naturally beneath his skin.

“Is something wrong?” Arga asked coolly, noticing her hesitation.

Lastri blinked rapidly, snapping out of her daze. “Ah—n-no, young master. I came to deliver your meal. You haven’t eaten since morning, and it’s already evening, so I thought I’d prepare something for you.” Her tone was timid, her cheeks still pink.

Arga glanced at the covered tray she carried. When he lifted the cloth, the aroma of warm food filled the room, and suddenly, his hunger returned.

“Put it there,” he said calmly. “I’ll finish dressing.”

Lastri nodded eagerly and stepped inside. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the tray on the small wooden table. When she turned, Arga had already pulled his shirt down, the fabric hugging the broad lines of his shoulders. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his expression calm and unreadable.

The meal was simple—fried anchovies, spicy green chili sauce, and fresh vegetables—but it was enough to stir his appetite. He began eating without a word.

Lastri sat nearby, watching quietly. “Is it… good, young master?” she asked hopefully.

Arga didn’t reply. He simply continued chewing, his focus fixed entirely on the food.

Her heart sank a little at the silence. When he finally finished, he stood, drank a cup of water, and walked past her without a glance. The door closed behind him, leaving her speechless.

“How can someone be that cold?” she muttered bitterly. “Not even a single ‘thank you.’”

She gathered the dishes with a sigh and left, her thoughts a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration.

---

That evening, Kirana Dewi had been waiting since sunset. When Arga finally arrived, darkness had already draped itself over the Red Frog Sect compound. The entire place was alive with celebration.

Merchants filled the courtyard, selling trinkets, sweets, lanterns, and souvenirs. Laughter and music filled the air. The annual Lantern Festival only came once every five years, and for the townspeople, it was a night of joy and reunion.

Arga and Kirana walked side by side through the lively streets.

“Every five years, this place becomes so beautiful,” Kirana said with a gentle smile, holding a skewer of snail satay she had just bought.

Arga said nothing. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings—the rooftops, the crowd, the narrow paths between the buildings. His instincts never rested.

Kirana pouted slightly. “You don’t seem to enjoy this kind of place, do you?” she asked. Then, suddenly, she took his hand.

Arga’s reflexes nearly betrayed him; he almost flipped her over before realizing what was happening. He exhaled quietly and allowed her to lead him away.

Kirana guided him up a small hill within the sect grounds. It was a quiet spot, overlooking the entire town. Only a few pairs of lovers lingered there, their faces glowing in the gentle light of paper lanterns.

“This is the one hundred and twentieth Lantern Festival,” Kirana said softly. “It’s rare and sacred to our sect. Couples come here to release their lanterns and make wishes.”

From where they stood, the valley below shimmered with color—thousands of lanterns rising into the night sky like fiery blossoms, illuminating the darkness in a breathtaking display. It was a sight meant to soothe the soul.

But not for Arga. His eyes, though steady, were distant. He was not here to celebrate.

“So,” he said at last, “why bring me to such a secluded place?”

Kirana turned toward him. Her eyes, bright beneath the lantern light, held an emotion he didn’t quite understand.

“You didn’t seem to like the crowd earlier,” she said. “I thought… maybe you’d prefer somewhere quiet.”

Arga looked away toward the rising lanterns. The warm glow reflected faintly on his face, but his heart felt heavy, alert—aware of something unseen.

Then, gently, Kirana’s soft fingers intertwined with his.

“Arga,” she whispered, “would you be willing… to be someone special to me?”

He froze. No one had ever asked him something like that before. His life had been filled with battles, discipline, and solitude. The only companions he had ever known were his old master and the brothers he had trained beside.

A strange warmth stirred in his chest, but it frightened him more than any weapon could. He slowly withdrew his hand from hers.

Kirana’s expression faltered. Disappointment clouded her bright eyes. But before she could speak, Arga suddenly moved—swift as lightning.

Sing! Clep!

A sharp metallic sound cut through the air. Something whistled past and struck his back.

If Arga had reacted a heartbeat later, the blade would have pierced Kirana instead.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the sting of steel embed itself near his shoulder. His muscles tensed, suppressing the pain. His gaze darted into the darkness beyond the hill, but the only movement came from distant lanterns drifting upward.

“Damn it,” he thought. “That wasn’t random. Someone’s been watching us… and this weapon—it’s poisoned.”

“Arga! Are you alright?” Kirana’s face turned pale.

He swayed slightly as dizziness began to cloud his vision. “Kirana… get down the hill now. There’s an assassin nearby,” he said through clenched teeth.

Panicked, Kirana glanced around. When she touched his back, her hand came away warm and sticky. In the soft glow of her lantern, she saw crimson.

“Blood!” she gasped.

“Take me… back to the inn,” Arga said weakly. “I have… an antidote.”

Without hesitation, Kirana wrapped his arm around her shoulder and helped him down the hill. People turned their heads as they passed, whispering to one another, but Kirana ignored them all. Her only thought was saving him.

When they reached the inn, Lastri rushed out in alarm at the sight of Arga’s blood-soaked shirt. Together, she and Kirana carried him upstairs into his room.

“Get the guards,” Kirana ordered firmly. “No one is to enter this room until I say so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lastri said quickly, her voice trembling.

Inside, Kirana laid Arga face down on the bed. Her hands, steady despite her fear, channeled a faint pulse of inner energy as she pulled the small throwing knife from his back. A hiss of dark smoke rose from the wound—the blade was indeed laced with poison.

Following Arga’s instructions, she found the small vial of antidote in his belongings and applied it carefully. She cleaned the wound, bound it tightly with cloth, and watched as his breathing gradually steadied.

The bleeding wasn’t severe—his powerful physique had stopped the blade from piercing too deeply—but the poison had already taken its toll.

Kirana sank to the floor beside his bed, leaning her head against the frame. Her eyes softened as she gazed at his resting face.

“You rejected my feelings,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “yet you still risked your life to protect me…”

Her fingers brushed the edge of the blanket, trembling slightly. Outside, the lanterns still floated across the dark sky—silent witnesses to a night that neither of them would ever forget.