When dawn finally breaks, Adanu Raksa shakes off his unease and heads back to Kulonsewu Village.

  Hunger gnaws at his stomach, and he figures he’ll return to the food stall for something to eat.

  But as he walks, an old man steps into his path.

  “Are you really one of Ki Bayanaka’s disciples?”

  Adanu Raksa sighs, waving a hand dismissively. “No, I’m just a simple vagabond.”

  The old man’s eyes twinkle knowingly. “No need to be so humble. I know you’re the one who made the thugs leave our village. I’m the Chief of Kulonsewu. Would you mind coming to my home?”

  Right at that moment—

  GRUMBLE.

  Adanu Raksa’s stomach betrays him.

  The Village Chief chuckles.

  Adanu Raksa sighs, rubbing his neck. “…Alright, old man. Lead the way.”

  ***

  The Village Chief’s home is modest but sturdy, sitting at the heart of Kulonsewu.

  He serves Adanu Raksa a meal on the terrace but doesn’t join him. Instead, he sits nearby, watching quietly.

  But the moment Adanu Raksa finishes—

  THUD.

  The Chief bows deeply. “Please, I need your help.”

  Adanu Raksa’s brows lift in surprise.

  “If you truly are a disciple of the Great Ki Bayanaka, then you should be able to save this village.”

  Adanu Raksa pauses, feeling guilty if he doesn’t at least listen after being fed.

  “…Alright. What’s the problem?”

  The Chief’s face grows grim. “Our village is in great trouble. We haven’t had rain for weeks, and—”

  Adanu Raksa groans, shaking his head. “No, no, hold on, old man. I’m not a shaman. Don’t expect me to summon rain for your paddy fields.”

  The Chief raises his hands quickly. “No, that’s not what I’m asking! Please, listen first.”

  Adanu Raksa exhales, leaning back. “…Alright, I’m listening.”

  The Chief nods solemnly and begins his tale.

  “A few weeks ago, a shaman came to our village.”

  Adanu Raksa’s fingers drum lightly on the table.

  “He was always shirtless,” the old man’s eyes darken, “carrying a long wooden staff, he claimed he could summon the rain.”

  Adanu Raksa’s expression doesn’t change, but he can already tell where this story is going.

  “At first, it worked.” The Chief continues. “It rained a few times after he arrived. So when he asked for a virgin, we thought he simply wanted a wife to settle here.”

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  Adanu Raksa clicks his tongue. “And someone agreed?”

  “A girl offered herself. He wasn’t picky.” The Chief’s voice tightens. “But soon after, both of them disappeared.”

  Adanu Raksa’s grip tightens slightly. “And then?”

  The Chief swallows. “Our fields were dry again. The shaman returned. He said he could help—but this time, he asked for another girl.”

  A cold chill runs through the air.

  “That’s when we realized something was wrong. So we refused,” the Chief continues.

  Adanu Raksa sighs heavily, shaking his head. “You already know, don’t you?”

  The Chief nods, guilt lining his face.

  Adanu Raksa closes his eyes briefly. “…He wasn’t looking for a wife.”

  The old man’s hands shake slightly. “We denied him. But a week later, three village girls vanished in the night.”

  Adanu Raksa’s gaze snaps to him.

  The Chief’s voice lowers. “Then we started searching while also doing patrol in the night. That’s when we found out something sinister.”

  “Sinister like what?”

  “The possessions.”

  “What the?”

  “Each night, a girl was possessed by demon, and forced her way out of the house. Since then, we’ve always tied the girls down before sleep, to prevent them leaving the house in the middle of the night.”

  Adanu Raksa scratches his head, unsure of what to do.

  He isn’t a disciple of Ki Bayanaka to begin with. All he knows is how to use his sword.

  “Have you tried hunting that shaman?” he asks.

  The Village Chief shakes his head, then disappears into his house. Moments later, he returns, holding a poster.

  “We’re just peasants,” he says, handing it over. “All we could do was put a bounty on his head.”

  Adanu Raksa glances at the drawing. “He looks too young for a shaman. Who sketched this?”

  “He is too young to be a shaman,” the Chief agrees. “The village thugs tried to hunt him. But a few of their men died horribly in the jungle, and they abandoned us. So we’re back to where we started—no answers, no solution.”

  Adanu Raksa’s face twists slightly.

  Shit.

  It was his doing that made those thugs leave the village. If he hadn’t killed some of them, they’d still be searching for the shaman right now.

  His eyes return to the poster. As an unspoken debt for the men he killed…

  “Can I take this? I’ll search for him for a week. No promises, but you can forget about the reward.”

  The Chief’s eyes brighten with hope. “Of course! No need to be so modest. I know one of Ki Bayanaka’s disciples can handle this without much trouble.”

  Adanu Raksa lets out a slow sigh.

  Damn it.

  This is what he gets for using the old hermit’s name.

  He rises to his feet. “I’ll take my leave then. Thanks for the meal.”

  After leaving the Chief’s house, Adanu Raksa wanders through the village, hoping to get a better sense of the situation.

  But there’s nothing to go on.

  Kulonsewu is small, remote, isolated. After asking around, he learns about two nearest villages:

  - Karang Labu Village – Two days’ walk to the north;

  - Langsana Village – One day’s walk to the east.

  He has no choice but to leave Kulonsewu and head east. Descending the hills, he follows the narrow dirt paths leading to the valley, where the villagers' paddy fields stretch across the land.

  But then—

  Something catches his eye.

  The fields are ruined.

  Large patches of young paddy stalks lie flattened, as if they had been swept away by a flood.

  Adanu Raksa frowns.

  He approaches a group of farmers, their expressions grim as they examine the damage.

  “What happened here?” Adanu asks.

  The farmers exchange puzzled glances. Finally, one of them steps forward.

  “My son said there was a sudden flood before dawn. It didn’t last long, but… look what it did to our fields.”

  Adanu Raksa scratches his head. A flood in a drought-stricken village? This doesn’t add up.

  Before he can ask more questions, shouts erupt from nearby. Another group of farmers is gathering in a commotion.

  Adanu Raksa rushes over.

  The villagers stand in a half-circle, staring at something half-buried in the mud.

  “What is this?”

  “Could it be a monkey that got swept away by the flood?”

  “Doesn’t look like a monkey to me.”

  “Maybe it’s just bloated from the water.”

  The farmers continue arguing over what it is, poking at the corpse with sticks.

  But Adanu Raksa’s face darkens.

  He knows exactly what those carcasses are.

  They aren’t monkeys.

  Without hesitation, Adanu Raksa leaves the paddy field and follows the river upstream. The water still flows, but it’s shallow—far too little to irrigate the farms.

  He keeps moving, pushing deeper into the woods far beyond Kulonsewu village.

  That’s when he finds them, more carcasses litter the riverbanks.

  As Adanu approaches, a foul stench clings to the air—wet fur, rotting meat, something far worse.

  Then, he sees it.

  A shape, half-buried in the mud. Bloated. Twisted.

  At first, it looks like an animal carcass, but as he steps closer…

  The sight stops him cold.

  Clawed hands. Fanged jaws. Lifeless, filmy eyes staring skyward.

  A forest demon.

  His brows furrow. “Is this why they didn’t come after me last night?”

  It doesn’t add up. If the flood had wiped out the demons, that would explain their absence—but what about the evil spirits? They can fly. Water shouldn’t be a problem for them.

  Something about this is deeply wrong.

  It’s so wrong.

  He continues his investigation, scouring the area for clues. But as the afternoon fades into evening, he finds nothing useful.

  Adanu Raksa clicks his tongue in frustration. If the demons come looking for him tonight, he’ll need to be well-rested.

  With no other choice, he settles down and drifts into sleep—again, past sundown.

  Until some moments later…

  CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

  A frantic knocking jolts Adanu Raksa awake. The sharp, erratic rhythm echoes through the night.

  His senses snap to attention.

  “What’s that?”

  His heart pounds. That sound—bamboo sticks clashing—a village alarm. A warning of something terrible.

  “Don’t tell me… the demons are attacking Kulonsewu?!”

  He launches himself downhill, running so fast, and then leaping toward a lower tree and landing on a thick branch.

  From there, he gets a clear view of the village. A large crowd has gathered in front of one house.

  Something is very wrong.

  Without hesitation, he jumps down, past a house, and lands on the village’s main road.

  THUD.

  Several young villagers whirl around, startled.

  “Who is he?!”

  “Where did he come from?!”

  “Could he be the young shaman?”

  Fortunately, the Village Chief arrives before things escalate.

  “Hold down! Put down your weapons! He is an honored guest of our village.”

  The youngsters lower their sharpened bamboo spears, still looking wary.

  Adanu Raksa rushes to the Chief. “Sir! What’s happening?”

  The old man’s face is grim. “It’s another possession. Please, come with me. The girl is breaking free.”

  “Another possession?” Adanu Raksa frowns. “Didn’t the girl’s parents tie her down?”

  “I don’t know,” the Chief mutters.