A Danker writhed on the ground, his armor full of dents and grazes. He clenched his teeth as he slowly pushed himself up. Tears and bruises visibly defiled his face.

  Santoso kept his solemn glare at him. He flipped his sword around and cracked his neck joints, deliberately taunting his opponent. The general circled the Danker, his stride gentle yet loud. The sound that his armor made, complemented by the groaning challenger, was music to his ears.

  The challenger rose and spit a patch of blood on the ground. Santoso watched him readying his stance. His shaking legs and arms made the general's hands clasped tighter.

  An officer approached Santoso, giving him a pair of officer swords. Santoso held one of the swords horizontally with his arm stretched forward, showcasing the sword's dustless and still shiny scabbard. Santoso approached and gently laid the sword in front of his challenger. He then retreated and picked up the other sword for himself.

  The opponent picked up the sword that Santoso had laid, brandishing it. With his heavy breath, he readied his stance again.

  Santoso unsheathed his new sword. Its dark gray edge gleamed under the evening sun. He then sprang forth, fluttering the embroidered cloth of the Temple Guards behind him. The general swung his sword in a wide, sweeping arc — a move that left him exposed — yet the blade struck its target in the blink of an eye.

  The blow staggered his opponent, who had no time to block. Santoso struck again with equal swiftness and power. The attack swayed the challenger even further. Santoso struck his leg, then slammed his steel bracer against the challenger’s face, toppling him down.

  The foe writhed and groaned on the ground, again. Yet he rose shortly after, even though his whole body was evidently screaming to stop.

  Santoso frowned, his hand clasping his sword even tighter. The only man he knew was this stubborn was himself, and he wouldn't let anyone take it away from him.

  Santoso charged his opponent. He landed rapid consecutive blows that could cut a nyambek. The challenger, unable to block his attacks, fell again as easily as previously.

  Santoso withdrew. If things were different, Santoso would have liked that man in his Great House. He was keen on continuing the fight for as long as he had to as a token of honor. After all, only a few people lasted this far against him. Unfortunately, he had indulged in this pressing matter more than necessary.

  Santoso gestured to the Temple Guards. Two came to the scene and held the man on his knees. Santoso approached and squeezed his jaw, holding it up so that their eyes met.

  “I'll give you a chance,” Santoso said.

  “Y-you…” The man coughed up blood. He then returned his resentful face to Santoso. “...shouldn't be h-here.”

  Mild wind streamed through the plains. The banner of the PNS held by Santoso's contingent fluttered alongside the banner of Great House Pringgitan.

  “Don’t you understand?” Santoso shook his head harshly. “We have jurisdiction wherever order is needed.”

  “I will only…” The man coughed again. “...speak…to Grandmaster Sengkolo Sengkal Sing Olo Olo himself.”

  Santoso chuckled. “If Sengkolo knows what you did,” Santoso whispered. “He will slay you in your sleep, either with or without his own hands, before burning your whole village down. Would you like that?”

  Silence ensued.

  “I meanwhile,” Santoso said. “Still love my people, at least those who are still loyal. And for an extraordinary fighter like you, my heart will always be open. So swear an oath to me, and I will forgive you.”

  The man shook his head. “To despots like you…keep dreaming…”

  “I said, swear!” Santoso’s voice became thunderous.

  The man spit at Santoso.

  The general pulled back to wipe his face.

  Santoso inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising. He watched the Danker turn a sad expression to his left. Glowing crimson loops circled Santoso’s left ring finger. The general raised his left hand close to his sword. Flashing crimson threads pranced around the blade. Santoso then pierced the man’s chest.

  Blood spurted from the man's mouth. The Temple Guards threw him down.

  Santoso stared at his lifeless eyes and took a deep breath. He could've served in his retinue, where his talents would see a proper nourishment. Or, with his staunch idealism, he could've become a High Pandhita among the common folk, preserving their faith. Yet he chose this path.

  Santoso spit on the ground. He regretted not being here earlier and prevented the man’s treachery. The Sultanate did need more people like himself.

  A damsel broke through the encirclement formed by Santoso's Temple Guards. The general turned his attention toward where she came from: a crowd of herded villagers on the other side, surrounded by Shield-Troopers. The girl wept over the man's body, pressing his head tight against her chest. She glared up at Santoso, a wrathful gaze that didn't suit her young and beautiful stature.

  “You monster!” She said, with tears still flowing down her cheeks. “The Three curses your unholy name!”

  Santoso met her eyes. She reminded him of his latest daughter from his latest wife, young and ambitious — the exact type that wouldn't back down on their words.

  He glanced at the two Temple Guards before him and nodded. One of them pulled out a stick. A juniper glow emanated from the crystal installed in its shaft. The girl raised her arms, trying to shield herself. The Temple Guard gently touched her with the stick, rendering her unconscious. The other Temple Guard lifted her up and walked away.

  Santoso marched to a Field-Sorcerer standing before a mound of wooden crates and barrels. With a single nod, the Field-Sorcerer conjured fire, setting the three months' worth of food supply ablaze. As the crates and barrels crumbled to ashes, a smirk spread across Santoso's face.

  The general retreated to see his aide, who was waiting near his nyambek mount.

  “You know where to bring them, Panjar,” Santoso said to his aide.

  “The usual, my lord?” Panjar said.

  “Don't forget to keep them apart.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Panjar wrote in his notebook.

  Santoso rode with his contingent into Firdha Ridge. As he was about to enter the mountainous passage ahead, he looked back. The elevation allowed him a clear view of the sacked village. The villagers, separated into groups, were herded away from their intact homes. The armor of his warriors glittered from head to toe. The banners of Great House Pringgitan fluttered proudly as the soldiers were marching. Those commoners should be grateful that they were treated in high regard.

  The passage led to Fort Ngandok. Within the walls, regiments of Great House Pringgitan stood in lines, flanking both sides of the road. Their posture was as still as a statue, and their armor was cleaner than girls during the seasonal Royal Ball.

  Santoso suddenly ordered his convoy to stop. On the left side, he noticed a slightly depressed helmet on the third row. It rose up shortly after, matching how the other soldiers’ helmets were oriented. Santoso summoned the soldier. The surrounding Shield-Troopers made way, responding to Santoso's order like clockwork.

  The soldier's face paled, yet he still marched up to Santoso with his head held high.

  The general dismounted and looked down on him. “Dozing? In my presence?” Santoso’s glare pierced through the soldier’s eyes.

  “My lord,” the soldier said, returning Santoso’s glare. “Someone stole the necklace that my wife had given me. I still haven't found it, despite dedicating most of my sleep hours.”

  Santoso inhaled deeply and asked Panjar for a voice amplifier crystal.

  “Whoever stole Pradah’s necklace,” Santoso said with the crystal close to his mouth. His voice reverberated across his soldiers. “Step up!”

  “Over here, my lord!” One of the soldiers said.

  Santoso was surprised to find him nearby. As Santoso approached him, the soldier raised a necklace from his pocket. Pradah confirmed it was his.

  “Why did you do it, Prakoso?” Santoso said, clearly showing his irritation.

  “He has been saying awful things about my wife,” Prakoso said, his sight fixed on Pradah.

  “It was just banter,” Pradah said. “I didn't mean it.”

  “But if I said the same thing about your wife, would you tolera–”

  “Enough.” Santoso raised his hand. “Pradah, apologize. Prakoso, return the necklace.”

  The two men complied. Santoso then ordered them to shake hands, which they also did.

  “If you couldn't take it,” Santoso said to Prakoso. “Then why didn't you just tell it to Pradah?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Prakoso said, gazing down. “My mistake, my lord.”

  Eight Temple Guards attended Santoso. They disarmed both Pradah and Prakoso before bounding their hands and taking them away. Without a word, the other soldiers reformed the line.

  On his way to the nyambek den, Santoso heard a voice whose pitch was familiar to him. There was a girl on the level below, perhaps as young as the one that he had apprehended.

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  “Perfect gift for your loved ones!” the girl cried, her excitement unwavering despite being ignored by every passerby. “Homemade, but well-made! You won't find these anywhere!”

  An emerald cloth with golden frills was laid out before her. Trinkets of all kinds were arranged as orderly as his soldiers’ formation. The girl was raising a gold jeweled necklace, showcasing it to the people who came across her.

  Santoso studied the girl. A glimpse of memory turned her into a certain someone.

  After dusk's prayer, Santoso approached the girl. She was tidying up like the other vendors on the level.

  “Mr Santoso!” The girl stood up suddenly as soon as she noticed him.

  Santoso looked her in the eyes. “I haven't even introduced myself.”

  The girl chuckled. “I mean, no one is as tall as you.”

  Her peanut-colored lace shirt was decorated with golden embroidery on the edges. Its triangular collar almost showed her cleavage. Its sleeve stretched slightly below her elbow. A silky brown cloth was tied around her waist, emphasizing the curves of her youthful body. Tucked on it were a handful of brooches. Her dark brown ankle-length skirt perfected her appearance.

  Santoso smiled, seeing her body's subtle twitching. “What a fine girl like you doing in here?”

  The girl shriveled. Her lips flattened but she was clearly smiling. “I'm…” She chuckled. “T-trying to make a living.”

  “You seem to be out of luck today.” Santoso gestured.

  “Ah well,” the girl said, locking her hands in front. “You can't expect to be surrounded by customers every day right? Especially if you just started. I believe things will be different tomorrow.” She raised a fist to chest level. “Because I'll do better.”

  Santoso gave his hand, maintaining a friendly look. “May I see your most expensive trinket?”

  The girl gasped. “Sure!” She scrambled through her goods, her excitement making her clumsy. Her messy black bun made her look more dashing than most of the female attendees at the dance party. Her gray nape was brighter than the moon. “Here you go, sir,” she said, handing the gold jeweled necklace from earlier.

  Santoso studied the necklace. He then inhaled deeply.

  “What's your name?” Santoso said, keeping his smile, hiding his displeasure.

  “I'm Vera, sir.” The girl bowed. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Why set up shop here out of all places? I think you'd do better in the cities.”

  “Well…” The girl chuckled while rubbing her hands against each other. “I-I have my reason.” Her smile widened.

  Santoso nodded. “I'll take all of them,” he said.

  “W-what?” The girl's eyes widened.

  “I dislike repeating myself.”

  “O…okay…” Santoso's words made her smile wider than ever. “T-thank you…thank you so much! I might not have to go here again for a week.”

  Santoso returned to his office in the citadel to grab a strongbox and several purses. He exchanged them for her goods. Vera thanked him one more time. Santoso escorted the girl to the main gate of Fort Ngandok while carrying the sack filled with the trinkets he had bought.

  Before Vera left, Santoso asked her to follow him. He led her to a corner not far from the gate. After he placed the sack on the ground, Santoso yanked Vera's collar and pressed her against the fort's basalt wall.

  “S-sir!?” Vera said, a river of sweat wetting her face.

  “You're not fooling anyone,” Santoso said, pressing her harder against the wall.

  Vera's breath was short. “W-what did I do, sir?” Her smile remained, but her lips were twitching.

  Santoso pulled out the gold jeweled necklace and dropped it to the ground. The general then crushed it with his metallic boot.

  Vera gasped.

  When Santoso lifted his foot, the necklace was shattered.

  “If it's truly made of gold, then it surely wouldn't break like that when I stepped on it.”

  Santoso released his grip. Vera slowly collapsed to the ground. Santoso moved back as Vera crawled and picked up her broken craft from the dirt.

  Santoso crouched and leaned closer. “I will not let goods like this be sold to my people.”

  “S-s…sir…” Vera said, stuttering. “P-please, I'm not a fraud…b-believe me…I’ve spent years practicing to make this.”

  “Either you procured the wrong materials, learned the wrong method, or overestimated your skills.”

  Vera sat on her legs. She clasped her hands, in which her broken necklace resided, and brought them closer to her chest.

  “Just because you have worked on it for a long time,” Santoso said. “It doesn't mean it's good.”

  Santoso watched Vera's eyes grow teary. She sniffed and began wiping her eyes.

  Santoso's memory struck — Vera's face suddenly became her face. The general reached out with his right hand, wanting to caress her one more time. But as her face became Vera's once more, Santoso clenched his hand, stopping himself at once.

  “H-how,” Vera asked, holding back her tears. “How can you tell…”

  “I regularly bought my wives trinkets. I became too familiar with them.”

  Vera nodded, wiping her eyes.

  “I will give you an option though,” Santoso said. “Are you really into jewelry?”

  “Yes…sir,” Vera said.

  “My face is right here.”

  Vera turned her face to him, meeting his eyes. “Yes…sir,” she said. “Sorry, sir.”

  Santoso’s memory flashed to life again. He looked away briefly. Though he preferred her visage to stay, he was forced to accept that he was talking to Vera — not her.

  “I know a skilled jeweler in Dah-Sani. Go there and become her apprentice. I heard she's looking forward to passing down her skills as well. Until you are able to make a trinket worth selling, you aren't welcome to set up shop wherever you see that.” Santoso pointed at the banner of Great House Pringgitan that hung on the wall.

  “Yes, sir,” Vera said, wiping her eyes. “I understand.”

  “Now go, take those pias with you.”

  Vera looked at the strongbox and the purses. “I…I can't,” she said, looking down again.

  “Take it!” Santoso kept his tone gentle. “Use it to cover your transport and your first month living there.”

  Vera rose up and took what Santoso had traded with her. He told her to come again tomorrow to pick up several letters that she would need. Vera bowed, uttering her deepest gratitude before leaving Fort Ngandok.

  ***

  Three days later, during a war council, Santoso was attended by the soldiers of his Great House. He went to the reception hall, where a handful of retinues under the banner of Great House Pawon were waiting. He welcomed them warmly, honoring his friendship with their Grandmaster.

  They had a room prepared for them and sat across from each other.

  “They've been receiving staple food supplies from the enemy,” Santoso said. “My action was justified.”

  “However, Mr. Santoso,” the retinue's representative, House Lord Darman, said. “It doesn't change that Ke Tulungen is under our jurisdiction. The matter is supposed to be purely our business.”

  “Article Seven of Dominions’ Covenant stated that: in case of emergencies, any Great Houses are permitted to act in a way to resolve it as soon as possible.” Santoso pointed at them. “You're always too busy with your own affairs. It has to come down to us to get things done.”

  Darman shared a look with the rest of his staff.

  “Perhaps your action was indeed justified.” Darman shuffled through the papers on his table. “Nevertheless, the liability that you have caused to us still needs resolution.”

  Santoso stood up. Panjar and the other aides he brought also rose from their seats.

  “So we're done here…” Santoso said.

  Darman rose from his seat while staring at Santoso. “I will not let you keep doing this.”

  “What I did is for the benefit of the Sultanate as a whole. If you are loyal to the people, then surely you wouldn't mention any sort of liability.” Santoso frowned. “Unless of course, you're serving your own interest.”

  Darman took a deep breath. “How about this,” he said. “Distribute the beanrice that you have been hoarding to the–”

  “For the last time,” Santoso said, slamming the table with his hand. “We're not hoarding anything!”

  “With due respect, Mr. Grandmaster,” Darman said. “Please let me fin–”

  “No!”

  Santoso unsheathed his sword and pointed its tip at Darman. The other visitors stood up, stepping back. Santoso's aides remained still with indifference.

  “You came here and disrespected me twice.” Santoso waggled his sword lightly. “Pray to the All-Powerful Vahsani that I won't throw this your way!”

  Santoso’s left hand reached for a hand-sized case from his leather pouch. He clicked it open, revealing the purple crystal installed within.

  “Get them out of here,” Santoso said, holding the case close to his mouth as he spoke.

  A group of Temple Guards stormed the room and escorted the visitors out.

  Santoso stood on one of the citadel's balconies, watching his former guests walking away. Their banner shriveled in the absence of wind, perfectly matching their current mood.

  Santoso snorted. “How ungrateful…” he said. “What if everyone discovered that they couldn't keep their own people in check? What would everyone think of Great House Pawon then?” Santoso pointed at them and looked at Panjar.

  “Not to mention that we had our people stationed all across Firdha Ridge,” Panjar said calmly. “Allowing the other Great Houses to allocate their resources elsewhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  …Santoso…

  Santoso shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. He let the sweet voice calm him down. Once his composure returned, he suppressed it as much as possible.

  “Any issue–”

  “No,” Santoso said, interrupting Panjar. “Leave me alone for now, Panjar.” Santoso looked at his personal aide. “Please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Panjar left the room.

  Santoso leaned against the wall, holding his sword with the ornate golden scabbard tight.

  Panjar suddenly burst through the door.

  “Sir!”

  After hearing what he had to say, Santoso rushed out of the citadel and mounted his nyambek. He galloped away from Fort Ngandok by himself, deeper into Firdha Ridge. Santoso dismounted at an outpost with the banner of Great House Pringgitan. He ran toward a commotion on the other side, ignoring the warnings from his soldiers.

  In the middle was a Danker warrior, writhing on the ground. A nyambek lay motionless beside him. Santoso scooted to get a better look at his face. The general's eyes widened, recognizing the warrior to be one of the champions in the photo that Tangguh had leaked to him.

  Santoso retreated to a corner, where his soldiers overlooked him. He pulled up a different hand-sized case and clicked it open. “Sengkolo!” he said.

  It took a while before he got a response. “What?”

  Santoso told Sengkolo about what happened. After that, the call immediately ended.