Ghost of Harau

Night atop Harau Summit was wrapped in white mist creeping down from the granite cliffs. At the edge of the steep ravine, a large bonfire blazed, its red tongues of flame licking at the darkness. It served as a signal—a deadly beacon that guided Jeliteng’s squad through Harau’s confusing wilderness.

Jeliteng arrived with heavy, labored breaths. Behind him marched nine Singhasari soldiers, moving with strict discipline. Upon meeting the five-man scouting party, Jeliteng did not allow his men to rest carelessly.

“Form a circle! Back to back!” Jeliteng commanded in a low but thunderous voice. “Kalang, guard the left. Sulung, take the right. Leave no opening. We do not know what lurks among these trees.”

The soldiers obeyed instantly—trained instruments of Singhasari’s war. In seconds, a defensive ring formed, spears pointing outward, creating an impenetrable wall of iron against the dark.

They were the embodiment of rigid military discipline—a stark contrast to the wild, untamed forest surrounding them.

Jeliteng arranged a rotation for guard duty; the men slept within the circle, while two stood watch over their comrades.

He also conferred with Daka, the scouting leader, as the chirping of crickets and the night wind deepened the eerie atmosphere.

But amid the silence, a faint rustling sound came from the thick undergrowth just beyond the firelight.

Srak… srak…

Sulung, one of the young soldiers on guard to the right, narrowed his eyes. Between the branches, a slender figure appeared.

It was Sena. He carried a bundle of firewood on his back and a jungle fowl tied to his waist—acting perfectly the part of a hunter returning home.

“There he is! Over there!” Sulung shouted, pointing with his spear.

Jeliteng sprang to his feet. The sleeping soldiers jolted awake. Balun, who had been lying with his eyes closed but unable to sleep, swallowed hard as fear crept up his spine.

Sena looked up. In the dim glow of the fire, his face showed a convincingly startled expression.

His eyes widened, his mouth fell slightly open, as if he had never expected to find armed soldiers before his hiding place. He dropped his firewood, creating a heavy thud that shattered the silence.

“Seize him! Do not let him escape!” Jeliteng ordered.

Sena turned and ran. But he did not flee toward the dead-end cliffs. Instead, he sprinted into what appeared to be a clear path.

It looked like a well-worn trail, the logical route for someone trying to escape. The soldiers watched his back vanish into the thick foliage.

“Don’t let him get away!” Jeliteng shouted, leading the pursuit.

The strict discipline that had held them moments before began to dissolve under the rush of adrenaline. To them, Sena was nothing more than a terrified boy.

Unaware, the path that seemed so easy was actually the entrance to the Killing Zone—specially designed for them.

Sena ran at full speed, but as he passed a large tree, he moved in a way that seemed almost impossible for an ordinary person.

He leaped, planting his foot against the trunk, then grabbed a hanging rattan vine.

Tap—!

With one acrobatic swing, Sena vanished upward, entering the “rat paths” among the high branches.

From there, he was no longer running—he had become a watcher from above, observing as the Singhasari soldiers entered his trap one by one.

“Where did he go?! He was just here!” Sulung, the lead soldier, stopped abruptly as the path narrowed between two granite walls.

They were now exactly where Sena had planned. Without the protection of their circular formation, they were forced into a single file line through the narrow corridor.

“Keep searching! He must be hiding nearby!” Jeliteng called from the rear.

Sulung hurried forward. He did not see the fine rattan cord—no thicker than a twig—stretched across ankle height, camouflaged by damp moss. His foot accidentally severed it.

Click—!

The sound of the trigger releasing echoed through the narrow passage.

Whoosh—!

From a gap in the granite wall to the right, the Take-Otoshi—the fully tensioned yellow bamboo spring—snapped forward. Four sharpened stakes, their tips hardened by fire, struck the side of the line.

Sulung did not even have time to scream; the bamboo pierced his chest and pinned him against a meranti tree across the way. Blood spurted instantly, drenching the soldiers behind him.

Nor was Sulung the only victim. Three soldiers nearby were struck by the stakes, which shot like lightning through the darkness, dragging them several meters before they collapsed onto the wet, muddy ground.

Sena’s gaze remained cold and unreadable in the shadows. Four, he counted silently.

“A trap! Retreat!” Jeliteng roared.

Their formation broke in an instant, everyone scrambling back to a safe distance. But the panic that followed was far more deadly.

Soldiers in the middle of the line stumbled backward in haste, stepping onto what appeared to be solid ground—but was in fact the thin covering of a Toshiana—a pit lined with angled bamboo stakes.

Crack—!

The sound of the lattice breaking was followed by heart-wrenching screams. Three soldiers tumbled into the hole, the stakes piercing their thighs and bellies under their own weight.

Three more fell. One died instantly from a wound to the abdomen, while the other two could only scream in agony, impaled and unable to move.

Seven, Sena counted again.

Amidst the screams and chaos, the soldiers were given no time to think.

Sena did not let the moment of panic slip away. He leaped down from the branches almost silently, moving like a ghost.

Using the lower rat paths, he appeared directly behind the last soldier, who was disoriented and searching for direction. With one cold, fluid motion, he drove a Sembilu Maut into the base of the man’s skull—exactly where the spine meets the brain.

Jleb—!

With a sharp twist, the blade sank deeper, piercing through to the throat. There was no sound, no cry.

Eight.

The soldier collapsed instantly, completely paralyzed before he could even feel pain.

Seizing the opportunity nearby, Sena did not stop. He crawled through the undergrowth toward the next soldier, who stood frozen with trembling hands. Sena suddenly emerged from below.

Jleb—!

His blade slashed through the man’s windpipe. Sena pushed the soldier’s head back and withdrew the bloodied dart.

Nine.

Sena moved like an angel of death along the rear of the line.

Jeliteng, who had been in the middle and escaped the bamboo trap, turned around only to see the darkness swallowing his men one by one in mere seconds.

He saw Sena’s slender figure standing among the bodies. The young face no longer showed fear—only the cold detachment of a killer far beyond his years.

“You…” Jeliteng growled, his great sword trembling in his hand. “Who… who are you really?”

Sena did not answer. He stepped sideways and his form slowly melted into the shadow of a large tree trunk.

Srak… srak… srak…

He moved low to the ground, brushing aside leaves and branches, deliberately making a rustling sound that carried clearly in the silence.

Jeliteng and the five remaining soldiers followed the movement, their breathing ragged, fear rising up their spines.

Sena released the cord holding the monkey skull dummy with its palm-fiber hair.

Srrrt—!

Suddenly, before Jeliteng and his men, a shadowy figure with wild, disheveled hair swayed erratically, accompanied by a harsh, rattling noise.

“G-GHOST!” the soldiers cried out in unison.

Jeliteng’s sword shook violently; his hands trembled, his feet feeling as if they were rooted to the ground.

The five remaining men lost all control. Urine soaked their trousers, and they stood frozen, their faces ashen.

Jleb—Jleb—Jleb!—!

Sena appeared suddenly amidst their helplessness, driving three darts with precise speed into the throats of the three terrified soldiers.

He glanced at the other two to his right: one slumped to the ground and fainted, while the other scrambled desperately backward, rolling down the slope.

Jeliteng saw Sena’s silhouette no more than ten paces away. “You…”

Again, Sena did not reply. He lowered his body slowly and vanished into the dense foliage and bushes.

Jeliteng dared not advance. His spirit was already broken. Slowly, he stepped backward, eyes wide with terror, sword raised before him.

Then suddenly, he felt something pressing against his back. Panicked, he swung his sword wildly. “HAAAH!” he screamed hysterically.

Crack… crack… crack…

Huff… huff… huff…

Breathing heavily and erratically, Jeliteng realized with even greater shock that he had been striking nothing but the trunk of a meranti tree.

He was utterly defeated. As a warrior, his resolve had crumbled under his own fear.

JLEB—!

Jeliteng’s eyes bulged. A Sembilu Maut had pierced his throat. The world tilted, his vision fading, and he caught a faint glimpse of a figure standing there—expressionless, looking down at him as if he were nothing more than an insignificant insect.

Sena tucked the bloodied bamboo blade back into his waistband.

He steadied his breathing; his hands trembled slightly—a natural reaction of Sena’s body, now that his vengeance had been served.

Hattori looked at his shaking hands. “Calm down, Sena,” he whispered. “The man who killed your father is dead. Only Purwa remains.” Slowly, his body relaxed, returning to its usual state of calm and control.

He then took a rattan vine and bound the unconscious soldier, gagging his mouth with a strip of cloth torn from the man’s trousers. Then he walked calmly back toward his hiding place.

Balun was already there, panting heavily. He stared at Sena—so different from the scrawny boy he used to mock and bully.

“Sena… forgive me… I… I…” Balun stammered. He had accepted his fate, ready to die at the hands of his former childhood friend.

Regret and fear of death were clear in his expression. Balun squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.

But suddenly, the ropes binding him loosened. Balun opened his eyes slowly to find Sena crouching before him.

“Be—” Balun began, but Sena cut him off.

“Leave here as fast as you can, before my patience runs out.”

Balun nodded quickly and scrambled to his feet. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

He turned back and looked at Sena. “Thank you, Sena.” Then he ran, not daring to look back.

Amidst the distant screams of the two wounded soldiers still trapped in the pit, Sena stood at the cliff’s edge, looking down at Purwa’s camp far below.

“Come, Purwa. Let us end this once and for all atop Harau Summit.”

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