The folding knife sliced through the air, aimed directly at Raden's stomach. To the onlookers in the market watching in horror, Bang Jampang's movement looked fast and deadly.
But to Raden, it felt like watching a movie playing in slow motion.
Raden's eyes didn't see the knife as an unavoidable threat. His eyes saw vectors. Red dashed lines appeared in the air, predicting the trajectory of Bang Jampang's swing.
[Attack Analysis: Frontal Thrust. Speed: Low. Enemy Balance: Poor.]
Raden didn't need to think. His body moved following the instincts implanted by the residual memory of the Butcher General.
He shifted his left foot ten centimetres to the side. Minimal movement, utterly silent.
Whoosh.
The blade missed, merely slicing the empty air beside Raden's waist.
Bang Jampang's eyes widened. He lost his balance because his attack hit nothing but wind. His body stumbled forward.
At that moment, translucent blue text lit up brightly on a specific spot on the large thug's body.
[Target Exposed. Secondary Fatal Point: Solar Plexus.]
Raden's right hand shot out. Not a regular clenched fist, but a stiff and precise palm thrust, aimed exactly at Bang Jampang's solar plexus.
THUD!
The sound wasn't loud, but the impact was instant.
Bang Jampang's face turned from flushed red to deathly pale in a second. His eyes bulged, his mouth gaped open like a fish pulled onto land, but no sound came out. His lungs were paralyzed for a moment. His diaphragm spasmed violently.
The knife in his hand clattered onto the asphalt.
The massive body collapsed, kneeling in front of Raden while clutching his chest, struggling desperately just to draw a single breath.
The flea market, previously noisy, fell suddenly silent.
Jampang's henchmen, whose hands Raden had parried earlier, now retreated trembling. They had never seen their boss—the champion feared by the whole market—go down in a single strike.
Raden stood tall before the convulsing Jampang. Raden's breathing was calm. His heart wasn't even racing.
He looked down, staring at the thug. Raden's eyes glinted coldly.
"Pick up your knife again," Raden said softly. His voice was flat, but everyone in a five-meter radius could hear it clearly. "Try again. But this time, I won't aim for the solar plexus. I will aim for the throat."
Jampang looked up, meeting Raden's eyes. He saw something there far more terrifying than police or rival thugs. He saw the gaze of a killer.
Pure fear crawled up Jampang's spine. He shook his head frantically, still gasping for air.
"R... Run..." hissed one of his henchmen.
They supported the still-limp Jampang, then ran helter-skelter leaving Raden's stall, accompanied by the disbelieving stares of the other traders.
[Combat Ended.]
[Combat Experience Acquired.]
[Echo 'Wrath of the Butcher General' reacts to enemy fear.]
[Resonance Increased: 2%.]
Raden felt a warm pulse in his chest. A dark satisfaction crept through his veins seeing his enemy run in terror. The Keris in his bag seemed to vibrate softly, "drinking" the aura of fear lingering in the air.
"Den... You... Are you okay?" Pak Dulloh, his stall neighbor, asked with a trembling voice.
Raden turned. His cold face vanished, replaced by his usual polite smile. "I'm fine, Pak. Just a coincidence he slipped earlier."
"Slipped my foot! What kind of silat move was that?"
Raden just chuckled, not answering. He immediately packed up his wares. He knew he couldn't stay here long today. His action earlier was too conspicuous.
But before he left, his eyes fell on Jampang's folding knife left on the asphalt.
[Object: Cheap Folding Knife. Status: Sharp blade, loose handle. Dried blood stains present (history of violence).]
[Echo Potential: Low.]
Raden picked it up, folded it, and put it in his pocket. Free weapon.
Raden didn't go home. He had 250 thousand in his pocket, but that wasn't enough. His ambition had swollen. He needed more capital to buy "raw materials"—high-potential antiques.
He pushed his cart towards the Menteng area, an elite district in Central Jakarta. His destination was an antique shop called "Mustika Gallery".
Unlike the flea market, this place was air-conditioned, smelled of expensive incense, and displayed items in glass cases, not on tarpaulins.
The owner, Ko Aseng, was an old man with thick glasses known for being stingy but honest in appraising goods.
Raden parked his battered cart a bit far away to avoid being chased off by security, then entered carrying a shabby bag containing the transistor radio he had fixed yesterday.
Ding. The door bell rang.
"What are you looking for? We don't buy old newspapers," Ko Aseng didn't even look up from his ledger.
"I want to sell a 1960 Telesonic Transistor Radio. Teak wood. Mint condition," Raden said confidently.
Ko Aseng finally looked up. His eyebrows raised seeing Raden's shabby appearance. "Telesonic? Mint condition? Don't joke, young man. Probably junk you glued back together with super glue."
Raden placed the radio on the glass counter. "Why don't you check it first, Sir."
Ko Aseng snorted, taking the radio hesitantly. He turned it around, checked the wood joints, then turned it on.
The voice of the news anchor sounded crystal clear, without a single hiss of static.
Ko Aseng's eyes narrowed. He took out a magnifying glass, examining the insides through the rear ventilation distinct.
"The soldering..." Ko Aseng muttered. "So neat. Is this silver solder? And the capacitors... these are new old stock. Who serviced this?"
"Me," Raden answered briefly.
Ko Aseng looked at Raden, this time with an appraising gaze. Not looking at a scavenger, but looking at a fellow expert.
"You're lying. Young people these days don't understand tube radio schematics like this," Ko Aseng turned off the radio. "But I don't care who fixed it. The item is good."
"How much?" Raden asked.
"Five hundred thousand."
Raden smiled thinly. His Appraisal Eye had been active from the start.
[Object: 1960 Telesonic Radio. Collector Market Value: Rp 1,500,000 - Rp 2,000,000.]
[Target Psychology: Ko Aseng wants it badly. He has a client looking for this model.]
"One and a half million," Raden shot back.
Ko Aseng choked on his own spit. "Are you crazy! Robbery? Seven hundred!"
"One million three hundred. Or I take it to Pak Surya in Blok M. I heard he's looking for a gift for his father-in-law."
Ko Aseng's face turned sour. Raden hit the mark.
"Damn loan shark," grumbled Ko Aseng while opening the cash register. "One million two hundred. Take it or leave it."
"Deal."
Five minutes later, Raden walked out of the shop with a thick envelope in his pants pocket. One million two hundred thousand rupiah. Plus his previous money, he held nearly one and a half million.
In a single day, he made more money than his salary for three months as a porter.
He looked up at the Jakarta sky. The sun shone scorchingly, but to him, today felt cool.
"Nila," he whispered. "Tonight we eat well."
However, as he walked back to his cart, the Echo System gave a strange notification.
DING.
[Echo Radar Detects Anomaly.]
[Object with Pure Spiritual Energy detected within 50 meters radius.]
[Direction: 3 o'clock.]
Raden turned to the right. A luxurious black sedan had just stopped at a red light. In the back seat, sat a beautiful young girl holding a green jade pendant.
Raden's eyes widened. Through the dark tinted car window, he could see the jade's aura. Not a regular Echo aura. It was an aura that was... alive.
[Object: Nature Qi Container Jade.]
[Grade: Low Cultivation Artifact.]
[Owner: Modern Cultivator (Foundation Establishment Stage).]
Raden's blood rushed.
"Modern Cultivator?"
So he wasn't alone. In this barren modern world, apparently, there were others who knew about cultivation. And they were filthy rich.
The car sped away as the green light turned on. Raden watched it until it disappeared around the bend.
The world was far wider—and more dangerous—than he had imagined.