Clearly, those bandits’ expressions have drastically changed. Cakara can even sense the murderous intent in their eyes.
So, he acts.
Calmly, he slides the dagger back into its sheath.
As if a spell is lifted, the tension in the room changes instantly.
“That kris…”
“Cakara, isn’t that—”
“The king’s royal dagger?”
“How the hell did you get it?”
Mere moments ago, their eyes had gleamed with something dangerous. Now, they swarm around him with excitement, their voices filled with admiration instead of envy.
“Holy hell, it’s real!”
“The dagger of the kings! They say whoever wields it is destined for greatness.”
“I heard Prabu Jayantaka himself forged the Chakradwipa Kingdom after obtaining one just like this!”
Cakara smiles, but inside, his thoughts are elsewhere.
This was precisely the kind of power he had sought. This was why he had gathered these thugs—men cast aside by the world, just like him, man born as mere peasant.
Unlike the others, he is not content living as a mere outlaw. He dreams of something greater.
He likes to carve his own kingdom into existence—one where all men stand equal, free from the chains of noble blood and castes.
Cakara exhales, his resolve hardening. “I saw it myself.”
Agra narrows his eyes, curious. “Saw what?”
“The ritual,” Cakara replies. His voice is steady, yet his fingers twitch slightly as he recalls the sight. “Someone summoned the Carrion Flower Devil. I saw the demon myself.”
A heavy silence falls over the group.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Cakara turns to Adanu Raksa, his face shadowed in thought. “And this boy… I believe he was the offering.”
A heavy silence settles over the group. They gulp, bodies tense. Their eyes follow Cakara’s, all of them staring at the unconscious child, imagining the terror the boy must have experienced.
And soon, a shudder passes through the men.
“What kind of monster sacrifices a child to the devil?” one mutters.
“How did you get him out?” another asks.
Cakara smirks. “I climbed the devil itself, fought my way inside, killed the summoner, and stole this dagger.”
Gasps of disbelief ripple through the group.
But then—
Cakara’s smirk fades.
Something isn’t right.
Something is odd with the ritual and Adanu Raksa’s situation.
For a demon to grant a contract, the summoner must offer something of great personal value. A piece of their own. A treasure they cherish.
Cakara’s fingers tighten around the sheath of the dagger. A sick realization dawns in his mind.
That one man whose skull he crushed with his sword…
“Was he the boy’s father?” Cakara mutters under his breath.
“What?” Hasya asks.
Cakara doesn’t answer.
Then—
A weak, delirious voice fills the air.
Adanu Raksa stirs in his fevered sleep, shaking his head, whimpering. His breath comes in panicked gasps.
“…Mom…”
The men stiffen.
Adanu Raksa's weak cries turn frantic.
“No… let her go… don’t hurt her…”
Then—
His body jerks. His expression twists in rage.
“You devil! I’ll kill you!!!”
Silence emerges.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Cakara swallows hard, eyes wide.
“…Oh, God.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Don’t tell me…”
Hasya tugs at his sleeve. “What?”
Cakara exhales shakily. “That bastard… he sacrificed his own son to the devil—just to torment his wife.”
A wave of disgust ripples through the group.
Agra scoffs. “Bullshit. Who the hell would use a sacred dagger to summon the Carrion Flower Devil for something so trivial?”
Then—
His hand moves.
Steel flashes.
A sword rises.
“One thing for sure, this kid is cursed.”
And in the next instant—
Agra brings his sword down—straight for Adanu Raksa’s head.
The others watch with detached indifference, their expressions flat, unreadable.
None of them care what happens to Adanu Raksa.
But Cakara does.
His eyes widen as he sees Agra’s sword descending.
Without hesitation—
BAM!
A thunderous impact.
Cakara’s palm slams into Agra’s back with crushing force.
“GAAHCK!!!”
The force is so overwhelming that blood bursts from Agra’s mouth as he is launched across the room.
Agra is flung hard. His body crashes into the wooden wall—
CRACK!
The wall shatters. Splinters explode into the air.
Silence.
All eyes lock onto Agra’s crumpled form.
Some of Cakara’s men flinch. Others simply stare in stunned confusion. Hasya, standing closest, tenses in alarm, glancing between Cakara and Agra’s motionless body.
For a moment, nobody moves.
Then—
“Cough! Cough, cough—ptuh!”
Agra spits blood onto the dirt floor, groaning as he writhes in pain. His face twists in disbelief.
“What the fuck was that for?!” he chokes out, clutching his ribs. “You put that much power into a cheap shot to my back—you trying to kill me?”
Cakara exhales sharply, his jaw tightening.
Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to hit Agra that hard. But Agra’s sword had been inches away from splitting Adanu Raksa’s skull. He had no choice.
“You’ll live,” Cakara says coolly. “And I’m not letting you kill the kid.”
Agra glares at him, his bloodied lips curling in rage. “You bastard. You went that far just to protect him? Are you out of your goddamn mind? That kid is cursed! He’ll bring nothing but disaster to us!”
Cakara’s expression remains unreadable.
“I’m the boss,” he says evenly. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
With that, he turns his back on Agra and strides toward the door.
“Hasya,” he calls without looking back. “Get warm water and treat the kid’s fever.”
Hasya hesitates. “What about Yodha and the others?” He gestures toward the unconscious men scattered on the floor.
“They’ll be fine after a night’s sleep.”
And with that, Cakara steps out into the night.
Agra, still struggling to his feet, watches him go, his face twisted in frustration. His fingers curl into fists, his chest heaving.
Then—
With a growl, he whirls around and slams his fist into the broken wall, sending more splinters flying.
Without another word, he stalks off into the darkness.
