The Immortal Sword Behind the Skyscraper

Chapter 4: The Heir in Danger

"Move, you useless trash! If the board gets wind of this breach, my father will flay every single one of you alive!" Sekar Arum’s voice lashed through the subterranean chill of the deserted parking structure like a razor-sharp whip, echoing off the concrete pillars.

"We’re trying, Miss Arum! The electronic shutters are completely jammed, and the backup generator has been sabotaged!" her chief head of security panted, frantically bashing a heavy metal wrench against the override panel while sweat poured down his terrified face.

Raden Kusuma Wijaya adjusted the collar of his faded hoodie, his obsidian eyes sweeping over the cavernous, dimly lit basement with absolute, chilling indifference. He had merely intended to take the shortcut beneath the corporate district to avoid the rain, but the frantic commotion and the heavy, unmistakable stench of hired blood had blocked his path.

"Excuse me," Kusuma said, his voice level, quiet, and entirely devoid of panic as he stepped past a shivering executive clutching a brief-case to his chest.

"Hey! Are you insane? Stay back, kid! There are armed mercenaries closing in from both ramps!" the security chief roared, throwing his arm out to bar Kusuma’s way, his eyes wide with frantic disbelief. "Do you want to get us all slaughtered?"

"Your obstruction is tedious," Kusuma replied coldly, not even breaking his steady stride as he brushed past the frantic guard as if the man were nothing more than a passing shadow.

"You—!" Sekar Arum spun around, her designer heels clicking sharply against the concrete, her furious gaze locking onto the frail, hooded youth who dared to walk casually through a literal warzone. "Are you deaf, or just suicidal? My pursuers aren't street thugs; they’re high-tier corporate hitmen trained in modern tactical combat! Turn around right now, or—"

Her words cut off abruptly as the harsh glare of an overhead halogen light flickered, casting long, writhing shadows across the ramp behind her.

"Found you, little heiress," a gravelly, metallic voice hissed from the gloom.

Three figures emerged from the ramp’s descent, clad in matte-black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind reinforced ceramic masks. Each man held a silenced submachine gun raised with practiced, lethal efficiency, their boots hitting the ground in dead, synchronized thuds.

"Get down!" Sekar Arum gasped, her fierce composure shattering instantly as she instinctively dropped toward the concrete, her hand reaching blindly for a small panic button in her tailored blazer pocket.

The security guards shrieked, diving behind a stalled SUV, trembling too violently to even draw their sidearms.

Kusuma, however, did not drop. He simply stopped walking, standing directly in the center of the open lane, squarely between the corporate assassins and the terrified executives.

"Target spotted. Eliminate all witnesses," the lead mercenary growled, his finger tightening instantly on the trigger of his weapon with cold, professional detachment.

"Wait, you idiot, get out of the way!" Sekar Arum screamed from the floor, her eyes wide with horror as she watched the barrel of the tactical rifle swing directly toward Kusuma’s chest.

The assassin fired. A muffled, tearing rattle of suppressed gunfire split the air, sending a high-velocity stream of lead straight toward Kusuma’s heart.

To the mortal eye, it was an unstoppable execution. But to Kusuma, whose consciousness had spent millennia dissecting the esoteric flows of energy and the kinetic trajectories of ancient battlefield projectiles, the world moved in a crawling, agonizingly slow crawl.

Kusuma’s right hand twitched. He did not dodge; he merely pivoted his shoulder a microscopic fraction of an inch, allowing the supersonic lead slug to graze the rough cotton of his oversized hoodie without tearing his flesh.

"What?!" the lead mercenary grunted in sheer disbelief, his finger instinctively squeezing the trigger again for a follow-up burst.

Before the second volley could leave the barrel, Kusuma closed the distance with terrifying, impossible velocity. The concrete beneath his worn sneakers cracked under a sudden, silent burst of suppressed internal pressure—a faint echo of ancient martial footwork that defied modern physics.

Clang!

With a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to track, Kusuma’s palm struck the barrel of the submachine gun upward. The steel shrieked and warped under the sheer, concentrated force of his palm strike, snapping cleanly in half like a dry twig.

"Gah—!" the mercenary choked out, his eyes bulging behind his ceramic mask as Kusuma’s fingers flashed forward, striking the pressure point directly beneath the man’s throat with the precision of a master surgeon.

The hitman went completely rigid, his knees buckling instantly as his internal energy pathways were violently severed in a single, effortless motion. He collapsed heavily to the asphalt like a marionette with its strings cut, entirely lifeless before he even hit the ground.

"He... he took down Miller with one strike?" the second mercenary stammered, panic instantly fracturing his tactical discipline as he swung his weapon toward Kusuma. "Shoot him! Shoot the freak!"

The remaining two operatives opened fire simultaneously, a blinding hail of lead tearing through the damp air of the parking structure.

Kusuma did not blink. He swept his foot across the concrete, kicking up a discarded, heavy steel wrench left behind by the cowering security guard. The tool whirled through the air like a silver scythe, imbued with a sharp, concentrated hum of raw internal force.

Thwack!

The wrench struck the second mercenary squarely in the temple, the sickening crunch of fracturing bone echoing loudly over the fading clatter of gunfire. The man spun violently before crashing face-first into the concrete wall, sliding down into a motionless, crumpled heap in a spreading pool of dark blood.

The third operative froze, terror seizing his chest so violently that he dropped his weapon, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he stared at the frail youth standing casually over the bodies of his elite comrades.

"Monster..." the last hitman whispered, turning on his heel to sprint desperately back up the dark ramp toward the street.

Kusuma raised his hand casually, flicking a small, jagged piece of shattered metal he had picked up from the floor. The projectile whistled through the air with lethal, unerring accuracy, embedding itself deep into the back of the fleeing mercenary’s knee.

The man shrieked, crashing violently to the ground, before Kusuma’s quiet footsteps closed the distance and a swift, merciless stomp ended his consciousness for good.

Silence descended upon the underground parking structure once more, heavier and far more terrifying than before. The only sounds were the ragged, terrified breathing of the security guards and the soft, steady drip of water from a broken pipe overhead.

Sekar Arum slowly raised herself from the concrete, her immaculate suit stained with dust, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the three unmoving bodies sprawled across the floor. Not a single drop of sweat marred Kusuma’s forehead. He stood quietly, dusting off his sleeve with casual disdain, as if he had just brushed away a stray insect rather than exterminating a squad of elite corporate killers.

"Who... who on earth are you?" Sekar Arum breathed, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to reclaim her corporate composure, her sharp eyes scanning the young man’s frail frame with a mixture of profound shock and calculated appraisal.

Kusuma turned his cold, obsidian gaze toward her, his expression remaining completely unreadable.

"My name is Raden Kusuma Wijaya," he said flatly, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. "And your men are standing in my way."

Sekar Arum stared at him for a long, breathless moment, her mind racing as she calculated the sheer, impossible value of the asset standing before her. The corporate wolves were closing in for the kill, her board of directors was plotting her demise, and here, standing in a puddle of rainwater, was a walking god of death who could neutralize an army without breaking a sweat.

"My name is Sekar Arum," she said, her voice instantly regaining its steely, commanding edge as she stepped forward, chin held high despite the danger. "And I think you and I have a very profitable conversation to make."

Kusuma’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint, cold glint of calculation flashing in his dark pupils as he weighed her offer against the mountains of resources he desperately needed to accelerate his cultivation.

Before he could answer, the security chief’s panic-stricken phone buzzed violently in his pocket, the screen flashing with an urgent, blinking alert from the corporate mainframe upstairs.

"Miss Arum!" the chief shouted, his face entirely drained of color as he stared at his glowing screen. "The board... the entire executive committee has just voted to strip you of your executive authority and freeze all company assets effective immediately! Someone inside the inner circle just initiated a hostile takeover!"

Sekar Arum’s face went pale, her fists clenching so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Who?" she hissed, her voice laced with sudden, venomous fury. "Who authorized the freeze?"

The chief swallowed hard, looking up from his phone with sheer terror in his eyes.

"It’s... it’s coming from the newly appointed primary shareholder of the shadow conglomerate," the chief stammered, his voice shaking violently. "A man who calls himself... Raden Danu Sanjaya."

Kusuma’s body instantly went dead still. The cold, ancient fury that had frozen in his chest for millennia suddenly flared to incandescent, terrifying life, shattering the dim light around them with an invisible shockwave of pure, suffocating pressure.