The Strongest Farmer

006 The Ancient Mantra

Normally, Jaka wouldn’t just blindly follow someone’s orders.

Especially an order from a mysterious figure at the peak of a mountain in the dead of night. Even if the one commanding him were a mountain spirit, Jaka still wasn’t the type to trust easily.

But this time, his body moved before his mind had the chance to refuse.

His eyelids slowly fluttered shut.

He closed his eyes without hesitation, as if an invisible force was compelling him to obey. It wasn’t a harsh coercion pressing down on him, but rather a gentle push that made him feel deep in his heart that this was exactly what he was supposed to do.

Darkness immediately enveloped his vision.

Only the sound of the wind remained.

Moments later, the old man’s voice echoed.

At first, it sounded like a soft murmur. But as it went on, the tone shifted into the chanting of a mantra, deep, ancient, and incredibly complex. Every syllable that left the man's mouth seemed to resonate not just in Jaka’s ears, but deep within his bones and blood.

He couldn't understand the language.

Strangely, though, every sound felt intimately familiar.

It was as if the deepest part of his soul recognized the chant.

The wind around the mountaintop began to stir.

The thin mist that had been floating peacefully slowly started to swirl around Jaka. The cold air turned soft, then rose into a gentle warmth. The rock Jaka was standing on vibrated ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make his heart beat faster.

Then, the light appeared.

Even with his eyes closed, Jaka could feel it.

In the dark world behind his eyelids, tiny specks of gold and white slowly emerged like little stars. Those specks merged, forming intricate lines, then transformed into the most ancient Javanese script floating in the air.

The words orbited around him.

One rotation.

Two rotations.

Three rotations.

With every revolution, the warm aura enveloping Jaka’s body grew thicker. His breathing unconsciously fell into a specific rhythm. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if his body were learning an entirely new way to breathe.

Jaka wanted to open his eyes.

But when he tried, his eyelids felt glued shut. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force them open.

Panic nearly set in.

But before that panic could erupt, something forced its way into his mind.

New memories.

Not just one or two fragmented pieces, but a torrent of information, rushing, vast, and deep.

It felt like watching a movie live in a theater, except the screen was inside his own head. At first, everything felt surreal. Jaka saw fleeting shadows of mist, mountains, dewdrops, ancient farmers standing in the middle of vast fields, and an old ascetic sitting beneath a giant tree.

Then the scene shifted.

He saw people sitting cross-legged under the moonlight. They drew in deep breaths, channeled energy, and let spiritual dew drip from their fingertips onto parched earth.

Moments later, the cracked soil began to turn green. Seeds sprouted, roots spread, leaves unfurled, and fruits bloomed at an impossible speed.

Jaka watched it all with bated breath.

After a few moments, he realized that this was more than just a vision.

It was real.

The knowledge was pouring into him, embedding itself in his memory, fusing with his mind as if it had been a part of him all along.

The mantra.

The breathing technique.

How to absorb natural energy.

How to condense spiritual liquid.

How to protect the body from collapsing when the energy first purged the impurities from within flesh, bone, and blood.

Without realizing it, Jaka was already sitting cross-legged on the large rock, right outside the tent.

His back was straight.

Both hands rested on his knees.

His breathing became long, deep, and steady.

He no longer felt the cold of the mountain peak. His entire body was wrapped in a warm, soothing spiritual energy, like soaking in a lukewarm bath after a long, exhausting day.

To be continued...