"Threat level…
Divine."
Jarot said the words slowly, like they tasted wrong in his mouth. He stared at the crushed corpse at their feet—then at Ajin, who stood utterly still, the scroll trembling in his hand.
"Jin," Jarot whispered, jaw tight, "they don't hunt someone with that label. They hunt things they fear."
Ajin didn't blink.
The scroll crackled slightly in his tightened fist.
"Level… Divine," Ajin murmured.
He opened the crumpled parchment again, forcing his eyes to continue.
At the bottom of the decree—written in a different ink—was a note:
"Location and vulnerabilities provided by
Padepokan Dahana Satria."
KRAKK!
Ajin's hand clenched so hard the parchment snapped like brittle bone.
His voice broke from his throat like a growl torn from the earth.
"DAHANA!"
It wasn't a scream.
It was the sound of mountains cracking.
Jarot spat to the side. "Those traitorous dogs. The kingdom slaughters my people, and now Dahana licks their boots to hunt you. They'll do anything to stay alive."
He gripped Ajin's iron-hard shoulder with a massive hand.
"For my sister," Jarot growled, "I'll help you tear Dahana apart. Stone by stone."
Ajin didn't answer.
He was thinking.
For the first time, the broken pieces of the world started to align.
Twelve legendary sects.
Ten joined the kingdom—under "Project Sindewa-12."
Rogo resisted.
Dahana resisted—and then died, replaced by traitors.
The kingdom didn't simply want the twelve forbidden scrolls.
They were terrified of them.
Terrified of Baja Angkara Batin.
Terrified of someone who could survive it.
Terrified… of Ajin.
He slowly tucked the wrinkled scroll into his belt.
"Let's move," he said coldly.
Jarot glanced at the mangled assassin. "And her?"
Ajin walked past the corpse without looking.
"Leave it," he said.
"Let them know we're coming."
Walking Toward War
They continued through the forest, pace quickening. The air thickened with smoke the deeper they went.
Jarot talked as they walked.
About the kingdom's "Purification Units."
Elite squads who came after Bayang-Purwa assassins to finish the job.
"They destroyed what was left of Dahana," Jarot growled. "They burned the stubborn ones. Drowned the injured. Buried the children alive…"
He closed his eyes.
Ajin did not react.
Because he was training again.
While walking.
While bleeding.
His fist rose—
BUK!
KRENG!
A strike to his own chest.
Then another.
Jarot's eye twitched.
"Jin… what are you doing?"
"Training," Ajin said flatly.
"You're mad," Jarot snapped. "You'll break your ribs again!"
Ajin didn't respond.
Another blow.
BUK!
KRENG!
Every strike produced the sound of bone scraping metal. Baja Angkara Batin vibrating under impact.
"The scroll says," Ajin said, breath heavy,
"my body must remain cracked…
to grow stronger."
BUK!
KRENG!
Ajin suddenly bent forward—
HOEEKK!!
He vomited blood.
Thick.
Black.
Jarot instinctively stepped back.
"Gods… you're bleeding darkness."
Ajin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He stared at the black fluid on his skin.
Then he smiled.
A thin, broken smile.
"My body…
is still too weak."
He resumed walking—
and resumed striking himself.
Jarot followed in stunned silence.
A giant walking beside a monster.
Hours Later
The forest thinned.
Ash drifted through the air like black snow.
Jarot stopped at the edge of a cliff.
"We're here," he said quietly.
Ajin stepped beside him.
And looked down.
A vast valley stretched before them—
or what used to be one.
Now it was a graveyard.
Buildings shattered.
Temples collapsed.
Statues cracked open like broken skulls.
Smoke coiled upward from charred rubble.
The ruins of
Padepokan Dahana Satria.
The birthplace of Jarot.
The betrayer of Rogo.
The source of Ajin's manhunt.
A place where two destinies had broken
long before Ajin and Jarot ever met.
Ajin's fists clenched until his knuckles split open again.
Jarot's voice trembled with old grief and new rage.
"Dahana…
My home.
Or what's left of it."
Ajin's eyes narrowed.
"No," he said.
Jarot looked at him.
Ajin kept staring at the ruins below, the air vibrating with his wrath.
"This is not your home."
Jarot nodded painfully. "Not anymore."
Ajin's jaw hardened.
"This is the first of ten targets."
Jarot's eyes widened.
Ajin continued:
"We burn their new Dahana."
He lifted his head.
"And we hunt the nine that follow."
Jarot inhaled sharply.
Then he grinned.
A terrible, broken grin.
"Aye," he growled.
"We start with Dahana."
Below them, a faint figure moved among the ruins—
silent, watching from shadow.
Ajin sensed it before Jarot did.
Another Bayang-Purwa.
Or perhaps something else.
Someone else.
The wind carried a faint whisper:
"Ajin…"
Ajin didn't look away from the valley.
"Jarot."
"Yeah?"
"Prepare yourself."
"For what?"
Ajin turned his head, eyes glowing faintly red.
"For war."