“Let me come with you!” Kustari said.

  “You have to rest, period!” Sengkolo said.

  A handful of female Field-Sorcerers retrieved and brought Kustari into Fort Ngandok. The general’s aide reached toward Sengkolo, her right arm wagging gently. If only she brought a mirror to see the dark circles below her eyes. If that had happened to him, she would be the one insisting instead.

  Sengkolo drank from his water container and poured the remainder on his face. He then shook his head rapidly before wiping his face several times.

  Santoso emerged from the fort, mounted on his steed.

  “Let’s go,” he said as soon as he approached Sengkolo.

  Sengkolo looked at the fort. Cohorts of Palace Companions were marching out of the gate.

  “Do you mind waiting for them?” Sengkolo said.

  Santoso snorted. “Am I not enough of an escort for you?” Santoso straightened his posture. “Besides, don’t you want to hear from him as soon as possible?”

  Sengkolo frowned, rubbing his thumb against his index. He indeed wished for a survivor to tell him what Great House Thong was up to, but something felt odd.

  “Sengkolo.”

  The general turned to his friend.

  Santoso nodded to his left. He rode away as soon as Sengkolo mounted his nyambek.

  “Wait up!” Sengkolo said.

  Santoso slowed down, matching Sengkolo's pace. Sengkolo gazed at his dissatisfied face. No words were exchanged as their eyes met. Sengkolo nodded before turning his attention back to the front.

  “About the–” Sengkolo said.

  “I heard–” Santoso said at the same time.

  “Oh sorry,” Sengkolo said. “Go ahead.”

  “You first.”

  “It's about Ke Tulungan,” Sengkolo said, looking at Santoso. “Tell me you're taking the villagers to Meda Eng.”

  “They're on their way there, nothing to worry about. Perhaps you have something to say for them.”

  “I guess that has to wait.”

  Santoso nodded deeply at Sengkolo. “Allow me to assist you in quelling anyone else in your House who objected–”

  “What's in the House,” Sengkolo said, meeting Santoso's eyes. “Will be dealt with by the House.”

  Santoso smirked. “It seems like we're going to have an early dawn again somewhere–”

  “Hush!” Sengkolo closed the distance between them and glared at Santoso. “Enemy influence, no matter how small, must be uprooted at any cost.”

  Santoso gently pushed Sengkolo away. “Stop lecturing a person from whom you should be taking notes.”

  Sengkolo squinted at Santoso.

  “Clearly, I did peacekeeping better than you,” Santoso said.

  Sengkolo shook his head. “You subdued a bunch of commoners who barely had any power. I subdued those in the House who abused their responsibility. Know the difference.”

  “I would do it myself back then,” Santoso said. “I was merely giving you a chance to vent your wrath. You enjoyed that anyway, didn't you?”

  There was nothing unenjoyable from delivering justice to a traitor.

  Sengkolo inhaled deeply.

  “What could you ever do without me?” Santoso said, chuckling a little.

  “In any case,” Sengkolo said after a brief silence. “I'd like to know more about your progress in handling the beanrice issue. We all know that Ke Tulungan was forced to accept the food supplies from Great House Thong because of it.”

  “I am not hoarding anything,” Santoso said casually. “I'm making sure that these resources are used properly in the hands of those who would defend what Mangkuprawan I had built — in particular, my people.” Santoso gestured.

  “This war is the Sultanate's war. Everyone is involved, not just your people.” Sengkolo pointed at him.

  “Then explain why I only see my banner across all the fortresses of Firdha Ridge. I'm doing us all a favor, and you should be grateful that my people are still sold to that idea. Which is why I'm giving them the appreciation they deserve.”

  Sengkolo rubbed his forehead. “Listen,” he said. “I get that you can duel ten or twenty House Lords in a week, but there's nothing you can do if everyone is displeased with you.” Sengkolo sighed. “Please understand…” he whispered. “I need you to stay in power.”

  Santoso studied him. “So it’s not about me–”

  “It’s never about us. I have chosen to protect you — to protect everyone, regardless of which House or tribe they belong to, as long as they submit to the Sultanate. If you’re not interested in that anymore–”

  Santoso pointed at Sengkolo. “Stop accusing me of that,” he said, his tone threatening. “If you're so keen to see that issue resolved, then why don't you help me with it?”

  Sengkolo raised an eyebrow. “So you need help?”

  “Well…I, uh…”

  Sengkolo slapped Santoso's chestplate. “Then why don't you just tell me that?”

  Santoso shrugged before glancing away.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I won't judge you if you ask me for help?” Sengkolo said.

  Santoso remained silent.

  The two generals arrived at the outpost, leaving the Palace Companions behind. Sengkolo dismounted and marched into the fortified compound, his strides were wide and quick. Banners of Great House Pringgitan hung on the palisades, towers, and tents.

  A group of Temple Guards approached Sengkolo to salute him. They usually waited for Santoso to give his verbal approval, but they immediately let Sengkolo in, escorting the general.

  A contingent of Shield-Troopers and Shield-Bolts crowded the other side, standing in line. A handful of Field-Sorcerers screened the formation. The pandhita were also present, their mouths were restless. In their hands were a bundle of red sticks with burnt, smoking ends, which they gripped firmly on face level.

  The lead Field-Sorcerer warned Sengkolo as he was about to approach the sole survivor. He sensed powerful magic radiating from the writhing Danker, worse than the one that could transform people into Wankers.

  Sengkolo fixed his gaze at the champion: Warman Warisane Amba Tenan. He inhaled deeply before marching toward him, his fists clasping. The lead Field-Sorcerer tried to grab him, but the general was already beyond his reach.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sengkolo heard Santoso speaking with an overwhelming tone. “Give him a ward!”

  A golden translucent ellipsoid enveloped Sengkolo. The general kneeled before Warman. The latter squirmed as if something was absorbing his soul.

  “G-general…” Warman said, facing Sengkolo.

  Fiery orange vines pulsated underneath his bruised gray skin. Ligneous crusts crept on his face. Sengkolo unsheathed his sword. His attention briefly shifted to Warman’s tattered fatigue.

  “Speak,” Sengkolo said in his usual formal tone.

  “It’s over…it’s over, general!” he said, groaning. “We can’t win!”

  “What do you mean we can’t win? Speak, Warman!”

  Suddenly, Warman’s body jolted, his mouth opening wide. Dark orange smoke spiraled forth from his mouth and nose. Sengkolo stepped back as the smoke expanded. The spectating legionaries raised their weapons. Santoso casually reached for his sword. The smoke formed two glowing eyes, each was as big as him.

  “General Sengkolo,” a voice said. “Great-great-grandson of Mangkuprawan I.” The voice chuckled. “From his mistress, of course. Such a lovely girl Dwi Arkadewi was…”

  Sengkolo tightened his grip on his sword. “Don’t bring my great-great-grandmother’s name into this, Lone-Thong,” Sengkolo said.

  “What’s the matter? Are you ashamed of your history? You wish she were anything better than a pleasure woman, don't you?”

  “She was a faithful servant of Mangkuprawan I.” Sengkolo pointed at what was supposedly Lone-Thong’s eyes. “Unlike you.”

  “Ah yes…what a loyal servant she was,” Lone-Thong said. “So loyal that she didn’t object to being impregnated.” He chuckled.

  Sengkolo clasped his fists tighter.

  “Dear Mangku didn’t even give her a title or any form of recognition.” Lone-Thong burst into a hearty laugh. “And she was fortunate that it was dear Mangku who had bought her. Sadly, he wasn’t even there to help raise your great-grandfather.” Lone-Thong continued to laugh.

  “If you’re here just to laugh over my great-great-grandmother, then that’s too bad for you,” Sengkolo said.

  “Hm?” Lone-Thong stopped laughing.

  “You know you can’t break our defenses,” Sengkolo said, pointing his sword. “Your time is running out. When the Wei Han Empire deployed their armies on Mananggal, we will push you back to whichever corner of Mount Wardhana you came from, and we will seal it.”

  Sengkolo and Lone-Thong glared at each other, exchanging no words. The misty eyes hovered closer, but Sengkolo remained as still as a statue.

  “To clarify,” Lone-Thong said. “I’m here to introduce you to someone. I’ve always been trying to do that, but you shot all my envoys on sight, and my kin murdered your heroes without question.” Lone-Thong’s eyes turned to Warman. “Thank you, Warman, for your service.”

  As soon as Lone-Thong’s eyes returned, they flashed, briefly blinding the general.

  The bright orange obstructing Sengkolo’s vision shrunk, revealing the basalt tunnel that enclosed him on all sides except his front. The general zoomed through the tunnel, having no control over his body. His mouth refused to work, but his composure stayed with him.

  The light expanded as he cleared the tunnel. Thick white fumes infested the gigantic chamber. Scorching heat seeped through his armor. The magma bed below made him panic, but soon he discovered that he wasn’t falling into it. The fumes eventually drifted away, revealing a towering structure that dropped his jaw.

  A withered colossal tree stood before him. Its twisting brown trunk was adorned with occasional patches of red and green. Its crown disappeared in the darkness above, while its root was submerged beneath the magma bed. Elliptic cavities of varying sizes were spread across the trunk, ejecting white fumes that composed the chamber’s atmosphere. Sengkolo felt his muscles shriveling as he inhaled the fumes.

  The chamber suddenly quaked. Sengkolo fell to the magma bed. Just before he was flattened and burned, his vision returned.

  Sengkolo staggered several steps back, touching his forehead.

  “She,” Lone-Thong said. “Send her regards.”

  “I-it can’t be…” Sengkolo said, stuttering as he panted. “The Tunggadewi is dead! Mangkuprawan I had slew her!”

  Lone-Thong gently laughed.

  “You bastard!” Sengkolo shook his head. “You revived her!”

  “Han’einoki-sama had kneeled before dear Mangku for mercy.” Lone-Thong’s eyes squinted. “Yet he betrayed her plea. Did you say the Imperials would be here soon? Good. Let them witness the sinking of Kodai-no-Rakuen. Let them witness the consequences of messing with The Force of Nature.”

  Sengkolo clenched his teeth. The general was tempted to swing his sword ruthlessly at the dark orange smoke, but he couldn’t do that. Losing his composure while being amidst his soldiers would shatter their morale. Especially after being told that their arch-nemesis had returned.

  “Farewell, general.” The smoke swirled violently as soon as Lone-Thong was finished.

  Warman yelled at the top of his lungs. Warman began to float, and the cracks on his body glowed brighter. Sengkolo was quickly pulled back, the Temple Guards taking his position and surrounding Warman. The smoke’s hue grew darker as it continued to expand, the Temple Guards steadily stepping back. The glow intensified and the smoke engulfed Warman’s body.

  Eventually, Warman’s body shattered, flashing a light that blinded everyone.

  Sengkolo blinked repeatedly, shaking off his temporary blindness. The ground quaked and the legionaries screamed. When his sight recovered, Sengkolo shivered. The soldiers lay still on the ground, their bodies either sliced or crushed. Sengkolo raised his gaze at the tall figure who appeared out of thin air, his mouth agape.

  The tree man was as tall as the Praskovian giants. Thick spear-like branches protruded from its brawny chest, withered leaves dangling from them. Spiraling calligraphic patterns on its bark pulsated with an orange glow. A collection of basalts covered its legs and arms — an armor for the tree man. Blood dripped from its long and sharp fingers, which curved like a scythe. Fires burned in its eyes and horns. The cudgel in its right hand spewed flames as it let out a thunderous roar at the generals.

  “Kinku…” Sengkolo said.

  “That's not just a Kinku,” Santoso said, reaching for his sword. “That's a Kinku Enforcer.”

  Sengkolo gazed at Santoso, briefly admiring his preciseness.

  The tree man took three quick steps before raising his left hand overhead. Thorny vines flailed from its left hand. It swung them downward against the generals.

  Sengkolo and Santoso rolled aside just before the vines landed. When Sengkolo stood, the tree man immediately swung its cudgel against him. Sengkolo managed to roll away again. The general drew his sword, but he quickly realized that he couldn’t parry its attacks. The tree man pivoted its right arm, raising the cudgel above Sengkolo once more. The general leaped backward and covered his face from the shower of dirt roused by the cudgel’s landing.

  Sengkolo’s foot stepped on an uneven ground, toppling his balance. He fell down an incline behind him, grunting as his head hit the ground. The general was about to pick himself up when he saw the tree man’s foot descending on him.

  White light streaked through the air, carving a wound on the tree man’s foot. The Kishinzoku shrieked as it withdrew its foot.

  Santoso stood between the tree man and Sengkolo. The sword in his hand had a golden hilt. Its curved blade was as white as the snow of Praskovia, trails of mist billowing from it. The runes inscribed on the blade glowed brighter than the full moon. The pommel was shaped into the icon of Vhisa, The All-Knowing.

  Santoso held War-Teg in his usual aggressive stance. He then charged at the fuming Kishinzoku.

  Sengkolo recovered himself, his breath quick and heavy. He watched as Santoso pranced with poosh-like agility. The stubborn general dodged the cudgel every time and counterattacked the moment it missed him. War-Teg left a fuming white trail whenever it was swung.

  Santoso landed blow after blow as if it were child's play, leaving sizzling wounds wherever he hit. The wounds spread, the tree man crumbling, but they failed to slow it down.

  Sengkolo inhaled deeply. He raised his hands to level with his stomach and prayed to Vhisa. His head began to boil. Inaudible whispers flooded his ear canals. His head throbbed as if being hit by a war hammer, threatening to shatter his concentration.

  A steaming white glow enveloped his hand. Sengkolo pointed it at the tree man — a white beam of light shot toward the foe. Sengkolo’s cloth swayed as the beam appeared. His ears rang at the beam’s thunderous clamor. Sengkolo slammed his helmet, snapping out of it.

  The tree man’s attacks began to slow down. Sengkolo didn’t know which one was more astonishing, the tree man’s resilience despite his magical attack and its spreading wounds, or how Santoso was still unscathed and showed no sign of exhaustion.

  Sengkolo looked down at his sword. Despite having absorbed part of the tree man’s strength, he doubted that it was sufficient to cause any harm. So he prayed again, this time to Vahsani. Sengkolo felt his blood boil. His chest tightened as his heart raced. His muscles twisted and contorted painfully. His arm fumed as it glowed crimson. Sengkolo pointed it at the tree man.

  Crimson light burst from his hand and poured against the Kishinzoku. Sengkolo clenched his teeth — the burning feeling in his left arm was mounting rapidly as he kept the stream of Vahsani’s power going. Sengkolo’s arm eventually became flaccid and aching beyond words. He took quick and short breaths, coping with the pain.

  The Kishinzoku roared, falling to its knees. Santoso climbed to its back and thrust War-Teg against the back of its head. He continued with a dozen cuts on the tree man’s neck, severing its head. Santoso jumped down as the tree man crumbled. As Santoso backed away, a fiery glow engulfed what was left of the tree man. Santoso readied his stance again, but the remains of his foe dissolved into thin air.

  The Palace Companions just arrived. Santoso sheathed War-Teg and approached Sengkolo.

  “When you conversed with Lone-Thong,” Santoso said, gesturing. “Did you say The Tunggadewi?”

  Sengkolo steadied his breath and nodded. “She has returned.”

  The general wished that Santoso could reassure him. But Santoso’s eyes were wide and shaking, War-Teg slipping from his grip.