That night, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My body still ached from the exam field chaos. Tono sat on his bed, flipping open a thick blue-covered book.
"Karman, you asleep?" he asked.
"Not yet. What's up?"
"I wanna tell you about the sect. You're new, so you probably know nothing."
I sat up cross-legged. "Yeah, go ahead."
Tono adjusted his slipping glasses. "Alright. In the martial world, sects are divided into three tiers. Top tier three strongest sects. Endless resources, geniuses everywhere, they dominate the annual tournament."
"Annual tournament?"
"Yeah. Every year, sects compete. Winners get huge prizes money, talismans, rare pills, even secret realm access. Sect rankings come from that."
I nodded.
"Then mid-tier," Tono continued. "Ranks four to twelve. Decent, but can't touch the top. Last… bottom tier. Thirteen to twenty."
He paused, face darkening.
"Azure Cloud's currently nineteenth."
I blinked. "Nineteenth? But the Sect Leader and elders seemed insanely strong."
"They are," Tono said. "Problem is… Azure Cloud used to be top tier. Top three."
"What happened?"
Tono closed the book. "Twenty years ago, the great Demonic Cult war. Our strongest elder, Fist King Supardi, Elder Hartono's master, died on the battlefield."
So that explained Hartono's pained eyes.
"After Fist King died, Azure Cloud started falling. We kept losing tournaments. Talented disciples jumped ship to better sects. Resources dried up. Money vanished. Worst part… no true genius born here in twenty years."
I took it all in. No wonder so many disciples looked frustrated and jealous when Hartono took me. They probably thought the sect had no future.
"Oh yeah," Tono reopened the book. "Here's the list of elders and instructors."
He pointed to a page:
Sect Leader: Budi Suharjo
Elders:
Elder Hartono (Close-Combat Division)
Elder Sulastri (Formation and Strategy)
Elder Santoso (Weapons Division)
Elder Dewi Kusuma (Medicine and Alchemy)
Elder Bejo Bejan (Honorary Elder)
"Wait," I pointed at the last name. "Honorary Elder? What's the difference?"
"Honorary means outsiders with massive contributions but no blood ties. Elder Bejo Bejan leads the Red Eagle Squad Murim's elite force. Same generation as Elder Hartono."
I remembered Bejo Bejan's unhappy look when Hartono accepted me. What was that about?
"You know why Elder Hartono retired from active duty?" I asked.
Tono shook his head. "No one knows for sure. But after the war twenty years ago, he changed. Colder. Distrustful of everyone."
The night bell rang, lights out.
"Alright, Karman. Tomorrow morning we've got new disciple orientation. Sleep."
"Thanks for the info, Tono."
"Anytime! We're roommates!"
I lay back, mind racing. Once-great Azure Cloud now crumbling. Hartono grieving his master. Bejo Bejan suspicious. And me, trash suddenly taken as disciple.
What exactly did Hartono see in me?
Morning came fast. My stomach roared. I'd barely eaten last night, too exhausted.
"Karman! Canteen! Free breakfast for new disciples!" Tono yelled, already at the door.
The sect canteen was an open hall with long wooden tables. Smells of nasi uduk and sayur lodeh filled the air. My stomach growled louder.
We queued. I loaded up three plates of rice, two bowls of veggies, fried chicken, tempe, tofu, and a huge glass of soy milk.
"Karman… that's a lot," Tono whispered.
"I'm starving. Barely ate yesterday."
We grabbed a corner table. I devoured it like I hadn't eaten in days.
"Hey, look. The trash eats like a pig."
I froze. Disciples at the next table whispered, glaring.
"Lucky he even got in. Still hogging food."
Tono tugged my arm. "Ignore them."
I breathed deep and kept eating. Used to the hate.
Then one walked over big guy, smug face. I recognized him one of yesterday's passers.
"Hey, trash. Hear me talking?"
I stayed silent.
BAM!
He kicked my table leg, plates sliding.
"When I talk, you answer!"
I set down my spoon, met his eyes. "What do you want?"
"Want? Move. This table's for real disciples—not pity cases."
"Karman, let's just go," Tono whispered.
I didn't budge. Not defiance, legs still weak from yesterday's punch. Not fully recovered.
"Not moving?" He grinned. "Or you want me to move you?"
He grabbed my collar.
Reflex, I blocked.
SMACK!
My hand hit his wrist. Not hard. Just enough to push him back a step.
His face went red. "You… dare fight back?"
"I didn't fight. I just...."
"SHUT UP!" he roared. Everyone turned.
He swung a fist at my face.
No time to dodge. It smashed my cheek. I toppled off the bench.
"STOP!" Tono yelled, standing.
The bully ignored him, yanked my collar, ready to hit again.
Someone caught his arm.
"Enough, Bonar."
A young instructor stood behind us, face stern.
"Instructor Rudi…" Bonar dropped his hand.
"Both of you. With me. Now."
Instructor Rudi's room was plain, desk, chairs, shelves of basic manuals.
"Explain," Rudi said, sitting.
Bonar spoke first. "Instructor, he attacked me. Self-defense."
"Liar!" Tono burst in. "Bonar started...."
"Quiet. Not talking to you," Rudi cut cold. Then to me: "Karman?"
I looked down. "I… did block him. Reflex, not...."
"Reflex or not, you touched first. Violates sect rules. No fighting in public areas."
"But Instructor...."
"No buts." Rudi stood. "Both punished. Bonar, clean the training yard till evening. Karman, clean the equipment warehouse till done."
"Instructor, I have to reach Mount Bromo this afternoon."
"Your problem. Punishment stands. Out."
We left. Bonar smirked before walking off.
Tono grabbed my arm. "Karman, tell Elder Hartono. This isn't fair!"
"No. I'll do the punishment."
"But Mount Bromo.... if you're late...."
"I know." I stared at distant Mount Bromo. "I won't be late."
The equipment warehouse sat behind the training grounds, dark, dusty, packed with old, unused weapons. Sort usable from junk, I must clean everything.
Heavier than expected, half done.
"Damn… faster."
I ignored fatigue, hands flying. Can't be late. Can't disappoint elder Hartono.
Finally finished. Sweaty. No time to shower. I Grabbed the plaque from the dorm, sprinted full speed to Mount Bromo.
Three kilometers uphill.
Finally, the peak.
Elder Hartono stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind. Night wind whipped his robe.
"E-Elder Hartono… I'm here…" I gasped.
No answer.
I stepped closer. "Elder, I'm ready to...."
WHOOSH!
Something shot at me, fast, lethal.
No reaction time. A punch slammed my gut. I flew meters, crashed down.
"Ughh!"
Pain. Gut-wrenching. Like my insides wanted out.
"Who are you really?" Hartono's voice ice-cold, nothing like yesterday.
I tried rising, body paralyzed. "E-Elder… I'm Karman...."
BAM!
His kick cracked my ribs. I screamed.
"Don't lie!" he roared, eyes red with rage. "That stance yesterday… identical to the man who killed my master!"
What?
"Who sent you to this sect? Who taught you that technique?!"
"I-I don't understand… I didn't...."
BAM!
Another punch crushed my chest. Ribs cracked.
"ANSWER ME!" Hartono raised his fist, aura terrifying. Killing qi gathered.
I was going to die.
For real.
"HARTONO, ENOUGH!"
A thunderous voice. Someone appeared between us, blocking Hartono's strike.
BOOM!
Qi explosion cracked the ground.
Elder Bejo Bejan stood shielding me.
"Bejo… move. Not your business," Hartono hissed.
"No." Bejo Bejan's voice calm but iron. "Look at yourself, Hartono. Thought you'd accepted Master Supardi's death. But you're still blinded by rage."
"You know nothing...."
"I KNOW!" Bejo Bejan snapped. "I was there! I watched Master Supardi die right in front of me! But I didn't let revenge consume me like you!"
Hartono froze. Hands shaking.
"Look at the kid," Bejo Bejan said, pointing at me.
Suddenly, Bejo Bejan drew his sword.
SLASH!
He cut me.