Sibungsu (Samurai stabbed)
Guests are not invited

But in the wilds of Mount Sago, young people who they thought had been wiped out and their bodies chewed by dogs or lizards or tigers, which they thought was impossible to do good even as big as a particle, at that moment I was sitting cross-legged. He was sitting cross-legged on a flystone at the waist of a mountain that no human foot had ever set upon. From there he can look down, down to his village. He looked at the flickering lights like a thousand fireflies playing. His longing burns the heart. But if he came home, who would he meet there? Nobody.

All three of his family are dead. There was someone he really wanted to meet. But he's sure that guy won't be willing to meet. Renobulants. Is he still alive? He believes that Datuk Maruhun's son is still alive. Because she's a beautiful girl. Beautiful women usually have a long life. Except for her older sister who was raped and fought back, and killed by Saburo Matsuyama.

Saburo! Suddenly he was stunned. Revenge lit. He looked back at the flickering lights below. There are several villages that seem to be close to the foot of this mountain.

Even if the distance is far enough. He memorized the villages in the valley there. For he came to all the villages. In those villages have complained of fate. Gamble. And all the villagers knew him as a gambling ghost. No one doesn't know him. Because he wins more often in gambling than he loses. And when he wins, he always gives the kids spending money. Kids liked it.

Only their parents don't like him. He smiled when he remembered his victory in gambling. Suddenly he felt the wind blowing a little. And he was waiting for the wind to blow. Every twilight he looked forward to the wind on this flystone. He said he was like this for months. And for months he trained himself. He closed his eyes. Hand relaxes. Squeeze the dregs.

Test. , test . . test . . !

He heard a fine incision above. He counted. There's eleven. The sound was the sound of old wood leaves, which were exhausted by the sap of his body. When the wind blows in the afternoon, the old leaves come off the twigs, drift and fall. Then there were eleven dried leaves that fell around him.

Suddenly his limp hand moved behind the glove cloth that was slung on his shoulder. And the next moment there was a flash that was too fast to be followed by an eye view. Not to count four. The shiny object, which was none other than the samurai who had ended the lives of his three families, he recollected. And with his well-trained feelings, he learned that out of the eleven wood leaves that fell around him, there were three that escaped his samurai sabetage. The other eight pieces of two were exactly about the bones in the middle of those leaves!.

He took a deep breath. Then sit down again. Sitting regulates breathing. He doesn't have a teacher. His teacher was the Takambang Realm. He doesn't understand silat. Until this moment, he did not know a single step about the situation. But his heart has become steel to avenge the death of his father, mother and brother. He will also demand revenge for the death of his village. For the Japanese burning their village. Raped her brother and other women. And for the treatment of the Japanese who had killed children in his village first. He will retaliate against the Japanese by using their own weapons, the Samurai!

He has been on this mountain for months. And all that time he trained himself. What he imagined was his father's movement when swinging, and stabbing the samurai backwards. Which led to the death of two Japanese soldiers at once in a fight in his yard first. That movement he repeated. Go on and on. While the movement how to uproot the samurai he learned from a fight between Datuk Maruhun's friends at the secret target with the Japanese soldier. He recalled the Japanese movement it uprooted then swung the samurai. Then put the naked, blood-soaked samurai back in his scabbard. A very fast movement to imitate. But he hardened his heart to learn. At first, he only did it a few times a day. Then a few dozen times. Then a few tens of times. Then a few hundred times. Every day his work just uprooted samurai. Then put it back in. Then when the movement he felt was already proficient, he imitated the movement of swinging the samurai to slash the opponent in front with a very fast movement. Then imitate the movements of his father. After chopping down the opponent in front, without swapping the grip of both hands on the samurai's hilt, the weapon was knocked up backwards. This movement initially felt difficult and stiff. But he has to learn. Got to! What made it difficult was that he did not know the basic moves of the samurai. Not knowing which horses to wear. That's why he's so slow to become proficient.

And yet, after he became proficient in the movement, his horses remained incorrect according to the method of samurai science. The horses and his footsteps he made according to his taste. How does he feel best to attack and fend off, as well as knock down opponents immediately. He kept training day after day. During the day he hunts deer on the mountain. The way is very easy. For almost a year in the jungle, he had memorized where the gazelle drank during the day. He also knew where to approach the beast from. He must stand up under the wind. So that the smell of his body is not smelled by the animal.

Early in the morning he went to the small pond. Get down in the low bush. Stay there like a dead tree. But one day he got a test. The one who came to drink there was not a deer but a leopard. This animal came precisely from the top of the tree where the Bungsu was lying under it. The tiger soon learned of his presence. He pounced on the Bungsu. But for the youngest, the speed of this tiger is nothing compared to the speed he has in plucking and using samurai.

He lay still as the tiger leaped over him. When he was a little more, that was when his hand moved. Twice he swung his hand, the next moment his samurai re-entered the nest together with the collapse and cut off both leopard bodies. He was half lying down. After all, that was the first time he used his spoils samurai against living beings.

This is what he learned after that. The remains of the tiger carcass invite many flies to his nearness. He closed his eyes. Concentrate. There is a stark difference between her father learning silat and her studying now. His father used to study silat just for self-guard. Then circumstances made him a Silat Master. Less high levels. Everything else with him now. He learns because he is determined to take revenge.

And his desire to be smart quickly is very burning.That is why in the craft of practicing, his father must have lost diligently than he does now. He closed his eyes.

Flies began to connect to the rest of the leopard's carcass. He heard a green buzzing. Then he started counting. Too many. He heard the shakes of his wings as he flew. His hands began to soften. Glow like silk. Like there's no bone in his arm. Then he focused his hearing.

Now!

Suddenly his hand moved quickly. Four times he slashed, then suddenly the samurai vanished back into his nest behind a sheath cloth slung on his shoulders.

Without opening his eyes he could tell that in the four times he had made the cut, only two green langau died. There's a broken stomach. There's a little head-spirited. A samurai must know exactly what part he wants to hurt. And the part he wants to do must be able to do. He wiped the sweat. Then sit down again. Repeat the exercise from the beginning. Pull out and cut down the lights. So keep going day by day. So the days change weeks. Week changing months. Months change years!

This afternoon he sat back on the flat stone. Staring down into the valley there, to the foot of the mountain where the rice fields were slapping. Where the flickering of lights from the villages began to appear. He sat staring at his village.Rindu back timid rumbling in his chest to go down there. It's been said full moon he's at the waist of this Mount Sago. Sleeping in the log cabin he made in an emergency. What made him to recover from the wound that had barely split his back and stay alive was his fierce desire for revenge.

Now he feels like he wants to go back to his village soon. He took a deep breath. But his ears, which had been highly trained in the jungle, also caught another snort of breath.

She's stunned. Was this momentary snort her own snort heard up to twice? He did not dare to look. But his instincts said that there was a danger threatening him from behind. But what danger is it. Why didn't he know?It's been a dozen full moons he's sitting here. Every move that approached this place, even a butterfly that flew lightly, he would soon know. All thanks to his concentration training so far. Instantly his body was also preparing to accept every unwanted possibility. Strange, there was no sound. Though usually this twilight, every time he finished praying Magrib he was always entertained by the drum of crickets and the sound of singing other night animals. Including the simple voice of the siamese.

Why are these voices disappearing? Since when did it disappear? This silence was a silence he had never experienced all this time. And suddenly back that strange gasp of breath he heard. He was sure that the smooth and very slow grunt was not a snort from his mouth. No. gabe. The grunts were clear from behind him. According to his estimation, the distance between him sitting backwards and the grunting creature was at most only three fathoms !

Three fathoms! Oh my God, the fur of his nape is goosebumps. If it is true, that the grunt was about three fathoms behind him, it means that his "guest" was on the big flat rock where he was sitting, which is about four square fathoms wide. He sat at the front end. What shocked him was the presence of the creature he had not known on this stone. Why didn't he hear it in the least?

The krosak…!