Jaka's boots crunched softly over the hardened dirt road as they entered the heart of Mekarjati. The village was still—too still.
There were no animals, no whispers behind windows, no children playing, and no people.
Just the silence of something unnatural. The kind of quiet that told Jaka something was already in motion.
The first to speak was Dyah Netarja.
She stood at the edge of the village, one hand resting lightly on her satchel strap—not a weapon.
Her eyes narrowed against the amber light of late afternoon. Her breath hung in the unmoving air, and when she spoke, her voice trembled.
"This isn't silence," she said. "This is absence."
Jaka paused mid-step behind her, his wooden training sword tapping against his thigh. The dirt road ahead stretched into crooked houses and sagging fences swallowed by weeds.
Arya caught up, frowning. "You think this is a dead village?"
Dyah Netarja shook her head slowly. "No. I had an informant speak of Mekarjati before we left. The villagers aren't missing… they were taken. But by who?"
Her words wrapped around them like a cold fog. Jaka's pulse quickened.
Then it hit him—not recognition of the place, but the pattern.
The stillness was too deliberate. Too perfect. Something about it tickled at the back of his mind, diving deep into instincts he hadn't used in years. Every detail was meticulously in place. This wasn't just a dead village—this was a calculated move.
Arya's voice sliced in, sharp and low. "They've taken over. The villagers aren't hiding. This place is under someone control."
Jaka froze.
Mekarjati was supposed to be safe. One of the last villages untouched by chaos. A place of gentle routines, market songs, and bloom in business.
His jaw tightened.
If Mekarjati isn't safe—then perhaps, every so-called safe point village is the same.
And if everything wasn't in the script...
This wasn't his game anymore.
Not the one he shape. Not the one he remembered.
And yet something inside him stirred—old instinct, like code reactivating in his mind. His gaze scanned rooftops, alleyways, shadows.
Wait. I know this.
The pattern unfolded before him. This wasn't just a bandit takeover—it was a trap. Veterans of war disguised as bandits, or victims of war being used to set something else into motion.
Every stillness. Every absence. It followed routines he had hard-coded years ago, when he still believed complexity made the game immersive.
"They're baiting us," he muttered.
Nala turned toward him, gripping her spear tightly, her muscles taut. "What do you mean?"
He pointed to the main path, where a tall, armored figure emerged. Broad shoulders. Scarred face. Twin axes on his back.
The bandit leader.
"He's a lure," Jaka said. "He draws the strongest fighters—Arya, maybe you—to the front line. That's what I deduce for this stillness. He's showing himself like a big shot."
Nala's brow furrowed. "You're telling me, that big guy isn't the real danger?"
Jaka shook his head, eyes narrowing. "He's the distraction."
He turned, eyes darting to the alley behind them. "The real danger comes from behind. A flanking maneuver. And the weaker ones will use numbers. Enough to overwhelm a distracted rear guard—especially someone who's not a fighter."
His voice cracked.
Dyah Netarja stood farthest back. Calm. Observant. Unarmed.
Nala's grip tightened on her spear. "You're saying we're standing in the middle of someone's trap?"
"Exactly. This isn't a bandit takeover. This is an attempt at assassination. And their target is..." Jaka muttered.
"Me..." Dyah Netarja finished, her voice steady, but her eyes wide.
Right on cue: the creak of doors. The rush of feet. Shadows darting from side alleys.
Five bandits.
They burst from the rear, knives drawn. Just like he'd written.
And for Dyah Netarja—too far back in the line. Sometimes, the position that seems safe is the most dangerous one.
Jaka moved before thought, stepping in front of Dyah Netarja, but Nala was already ahead of him.
"No time!" Jaka barked, his heart racing.
Nala surged forward, her spear cutting through the air like a striking serpent. The first bandit lunged, but she met him with a brutal swing, sending him tumbling to the ground with a sickening crack.
Jaka followed her lead, his wooden sword a blur as he blocked the next attack from a bandit, his strikes sharp but more calculated than graceful. He ducked, twisting to avoid a thrust, and then swung low, knocking one of the attackers off balance.
But Nala—she was a force of nature. Her spear moved like lightning, each thrust and parry so precise that it seemed like she was always two steps ahead of the bandits. Jaka admired her strength, her confidence, even as he struggled to keep up.
"Watch the rear!" Nala shouted as she drove the tip of her spear into one bandit's stomach, sending him crumpling in a heap.
Jaka's eyes darted around. He had to focus. Every movement counted now.
He spun, stepping back just in time to block an attack from a bandit that had flanked them. Nala was already there, spinning with a savage grace, taking down the next one with a quick stab through the chest.
The bandit leader—still near the front—watched, his grin widening as he saw how the fight unfolded.
Nala and Jaka were holding their ground. But the leader's plan was clear: wear them down.
"You think you're a match for me?" the bandit leader sneered, raising his axes with a sickening grin. "We'll see about that."
Just as the leader raised his axes to charge, Arya stepped forward, blocking his path with a loud clash of steel.
"I think you've got me mixed up with someone else," Arya said, his voice low, the promise of a deadly fight in his eyes.
Jaka exchanged a glance with Nala, and without a word, they both turned back to the bandits still pressing from the rear.
Nala's spear moved with swift precision, cutting through the remaining attackers. Jaka, now more confident, followed her lead, his wooden sword moving with more fluidity.
Together, they cut down the remaining bandits, their coordinated movements forming a deadly rhythm. Jaka could feel his heartbeat quicken as they cleared the last of the attackers.
But Arya's battle with the bandit leader raged on.
"You'll regret this," the bandit leader spat, swinging his axes down on Arya, but Arya met him with a blade of his own, parrying the strikes with effortless grace.
Jaka's attention flickered back to Nala. She was standing strong, sweat slicking her brow, but the gleam in her eyes told him she wasn't about to stop.
With one final strike, Nala drove her spear through the last bandit's chest. Jaka stood panting, looking over at Arya, who was engaged in a deadly dance with the bandit leader. The fight wasn't over, but for now, they had held their ground.
Nala turned to Jaka, her face set in a grim expression. "We're not done yet. Protect Princess."
Jaka nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility sink in.
For now, they had won this battle. But the real fight—against the unknown forces manipulating this village—was just beginning.
And in his heart, Jaka knew one thing: this was no longer just a game. It was war.
A real blood-soaked war.