---
First of all…
Baskara began to understand the technique of his ancestral heirloom kris: Piercer of the Soul's Core.
Of course, this technique was not just an ordinary stab aimed at the heart—it was far from that simple. This thrust was directed at the center of consciousness, the core of the soul, and if successful… the pierced soul would not only be torn apart, but could also be passively absorbed into the realm of the kris itself.
The technique strikes on two fronts: the body and the soul.
But… that's not the most terrifying part. What makes this technique truly feared is that the victim remains unaware that their soul has been wounded. They could still walk, talk, even fight—but at some point, their soul would begin to fade, slowly, like smoke blown away by the wind.
One thrust. One road with no return.
And of course, understanding a technique like this is extremely difficult for most people. Many couldn't even grasp the first stage: distinguishing between the physical heart and the soul's core. Some were even consumed by the technique itself while trying to comprehend it.
But what about Baskara?
He sat still, eyes closed, with the Kris Kala Niskala resting on his lap.
The energy flowing from the kris pulsed gently—not wildly, but as if waiting. As if… testing whether its master was truly worthy.
And with a single breath—Baskara dove in.
He followed the path of energy from the tip of the blade to the hidden dimension that was the core of the kris's power. In that silent space, he found the form of the technique not as a movement, but as a sensation. A subtle impulse, invisible yet able to pierce the soul's dimension with a single focused intent.
No turbulence. No resistance. No difficulty.
For him, the technique flowed like water finding its own path. He did not force understanding… because in truth, the technique had been waiting for him all along.
One clear path.
And Baskara succeeded.
After mastering the technique, silence once again enveloped the meditation chamber. But the peace didn't last long—a soft voice echoed within his mind. Not loud, but soul-shaking:
> "Sharp at the tip, graceful in motion, strong at the base, beautiful in the pattern—like a true human: firm in purpose, fluid in conduct, strong in conviction, and radiant in spirit."
The voice had no form, no clear direction. Baskara opened his eyes and looked around. But all he saw was stone walls, the quiet air of meditation, and the kris still glowing faintly in his lap.
No one was there.
And yet the voice… felt real. As if it didn't just enter through his ears, but pierced directly into his soul. There was a meaning deeper than just poetic words.
Baskara closed his eyes again, reflecting on each phrase.
"Sharp at the tip…" He imagined the decisiveness in choosing one's path.
"Graceful in motion…" He saw himself adapting to every situation without losing direction.
"Strong at the base…" A vision of an unshakable soul foundation.
"Beautiful in the pattern…" A message about inner beauty, beyond mere strength.
And as his reflection reached its peak—suddenly, like a flood breaking through a dam, a torrent of information surged into his mind. Unstoppable.
Symbols. Techniques. Diagrams. Energy pathways. The deepest secrets of the Kris Kala Niskala.
His eyes trembled. Sweat rolled down his brow. Yet his body remained seated, still in meditation. Baskara did not resist. He opened himself.
He knew… this wasn't just a technique.
This was a legacy of the soul.
A heritage from ancestors who once became one with the void and the light. A legacy that could not be passed through words—only through spiritual understanding.
And when it all stopped, Baskara exhaled slowly… and smiled faintly.
> "I understand… it's not just a technique… but a way of life."
"A way of life…?"
The question echoed in Baskara's heart for days. His gaze was vacant, body still seated in meditation, but his soul wandered through an endless sea of questions without answers.
> Is a way of life the same as destiny? Or is it a choice?
Does everyone have their own unique path?
Is the goal merely to become strong… or to achieve immortality?
Day after day passed in silence. His body didn't move, not even his breath—so calm it was like lifeless. Yet his thoughts… raced through a labyrinth of the soul with no end.
One week… two weeks…
Until finally, his eyes blinked slowly. His breath returned, deep and heavy. He had awoken—though without any definite answer.
> "I don't know…," he whispered softly. But within that doubt was a new resolve.
For not all questions need answers now.
Perhaps… a way of life isn't meant to be understood, but to be lived.
He turned his head slowly. The soft glows of the spiritual stones around him had completely faded. Not a single light remained.
> "It's been more than two weeks," he thought. "The spiritual stones didn't just go out… they've ceased to exist."
Such is the nature of spiritual stones. When used to light meditation chambers, they emit a natural glow, but slowly deplete and vanish. Especially when absorbed during deep meditation, their essence is completely consumed.
Baskara rose slowly, his body still stiff—but calm. He held the Kris Kala Niskala in his hand. It still felt warm, as if reminding him that his new journey had not yet begun, but had already found its direction.
His first step was not to fight.
But to see… his father and mother.
> "Father… must have joined the conflict. As one of the family elites, he couldn't have stayed idle."
And his mother, a skilled alchemist in purification, long known as the right hand of many elders—crafting medicines, antidotes, even spiritual poisons.
> "They must be busy… and perhaps… in danger."
Baskara stepped out of the meditation chamber. The morning light greeted his face—free of doubt, yet still carrying deep contemplation. The sky appeared calm… but he knew,
a storm was coming.