Wira : The Peerless One from Mount Tarakan

That morning, the slopes of Mount Tarakan were still veiled in mist. The cold air crept along the skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves touched by dew. The sky slowly faded from darkness to pale blue. Birds called out in the forest, as if welcoming a day that would change everything.

Wira stood in front of the small hut he had always called home. A simple woven rucksack hung from his shoulder, holding a bit of food and a spare shirt. He glanced at his grandfather, who was sitting on a large stone, staring into the distant valley.

The old man's body looked thin, as if only skin and bones, but anyone who had seen him leap from the bottom of a ravine to the top of a cliff knew: his inner energy could still shake the earth. His white hair flowed back like a doll's, still very well-kept. His beard, also white, grew wild and long, like that of a venerable old hermit. His eyes were small, yet sharp like an eagle's gaze. A long bamboo staff, whose age was unknown, was always tucked into his back—it looked light, but could split stone if he wished.

Wira stood still, observing the figure who had raised and educated him since he was a baby.

"Gramps..." he said softly.

The old man turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. But his eyes hinted at a sense of loss. Perhaps it was because the old man genuinely cherished Wira, whom he had cared for alone in the forest since he was an infant. "It's time. Right?!"

Wira nodded slowly, but remained still. A strange feeling stirred in his chest. It wasn't fear... nor was it sadness. Perhaps a mixture of both. Or perhaps... this was the first time he had felt loss before truly leaving. "If I don't come back... don't be sad, okay?"

"If you don't come back," his grandfather interrupted, standing and patting his shoulder, "I'll come down the mountain, find you, and smack your head until you remember the way home."

Wira gave a small laugh, his eyes slightly clouded with sadness. "I'll be going now, Gramps."

His grandfather didn't reply. He just stared at him, long and deep, as if trying to imprint that face into memory. "Remember, Wira... the world down there isn't as simple as this forest. Some men are wilder than beasts. If you must fight, then fight. But if you have a choice, stay good."

Wira nodded. Then he stepped onto the narrow trail, the path he'd only seen from afar.

His steps were hesitant at first, then more certain—turning into quick, bouncing strides, like a deer set free.

Watching from afar, the old man sighed and shook his head. "That foolish boy... he'll probably pass out before reaching the village."

A black bird flew low across the western sky. A sign—or just coincidence. No one knew. But one thing was certain: the mountain boy had descended. And his first footprint… was about to be carved.

Wira's strides were fast, his breath mingling with excitement and curiosity. But before he could reach the mountain's edge, his steps began to falter.

His breath grew short. Sweat soaked his brow and back. "Huff... why... is the world below so far away?" 

Wira leaned against a large tree trunk, gazing ahead while sipping the last of the water from the small bamboo canteen he carried. "Huh, looks like Grandpa wished the path to the village was longer so I'd come back, right!" he mused, picturing his grandfather's face.

Through the thinning leaves, he caught a glimpse of red dirt paths—signs of the first village.

"Gramps said just two more turns… feels like I climbed down seven mountains..."

Then came unfamiliar sounds—not birds or bugs, but the clatter of wood, children shouting, and smoke in the air.

Wira slapped his cheeks. "Come on, Wira. It's just... the human world. Not a cliff." 

Pushing through the last bushes, he saw it. A dirt road bustling with people. Some carried baskets, others herded goats, some traded beneath a tree.

He crouched behind leaves, wide-eyed. "Are those... real humans? Why doesn't anyone have a sword?"

His mouth gaped open, taking in the small glimpse of human activity. "So, these are my kind!" Wira muttered to himself.

His stomach growled. "Groook..." He looked down. "Right... no breakfast."

He climbed a tree, watching the people below. But hunger refused to wait. He climbed back down, caught a jungle fowl, and roasted it behind the bushes.

As he chewed the warm meat, footsteps approached. From the trees, someone appeared. Smaller than him, but... with a strange bulge on the chest.

Wira stood ready. "What is this? Small body... but massive chest muscles! Must be strong!"

The figure stumbled closer—dusty, sweaty, out of breath.

"Hmm... maybe just escaped a fierce battle," Wira thought, clenching his fists. But instead of attacking, the figure—a girl—clutched her stomach. "Ugh..." she groaned. Her face was tired. Dirty, but clearly no warrior.

Wira lowered his guard slightly. "Uh... you're not attacking?"

"I... I'm hungry..." she whispered. Her stomach growled. "Groook..."

Wira looked at his chicken. Then at her. Then back again.

"You're hungry? But... you're a warrior, right? Can't you hunt?"

"I'm not a warrior... I'm running from people who want to capture me..."

"Running? From who? How did you end up here?"

But the girl had already sat down, staring at the roasted chicken like it was her last hope.

Wira sighed and split the bird in half. "Fine... half is yours."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. But you have to tell me—why you're being chased. And why your chest muscles are so big."

She froze. The chicken nearly fell from her hands.

"What do you mean... chest muscles?"

"Well yeah. Your chest looks strong, but your arms are skinny. That's not normal. In the Boulder Mountain breathing technique, big chest = strong arms."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh God... he really did just descend from the sky." He said, eating quickly, his hunger unbearable. His energy was almost depleted; he had no time to deal with that strange person.

"From the mountain, actually. But if you came from the sky, maybe we're desti—"

"Stop." She glared. "My name's Laksmi. I'm a girl. And what you called 'chest muscles'... they're not muscles."

"...They're not?"

"No!"

"Then what are they?"

She fell silent, mouth half-open. Should she be mad? Or just confused? His stare was so pure it was hard to tell if he was dumb or faking it.

"You... seriously don't know?"

"I swear. Unless it's some kind of disease?"

She nearly choked. "A disease?! My God!"

But before she could explode, she heard rustling... quick footsteps... and the metallic clink of blades.

Laksmi snapped her head around. "Damn. They found me again!"

Wira blinked. "They who? More of your... friends?"

"Those aren't friends, idiot! They're assassins from the Night Shadow Sect!"

"Ohh... the bad guys chasing you, right?"

Without another word, Laksmi grabbed his hand and pulled. "We have to run! They won't hesitate to kill!"

But Wira stood firm, unmoving.

"Eh?" Laksmi turned.

He gently pulled his hand free and pointed at the ground.

"Relax... sit down."

"What?!"

"You're hungry, right? Eat first. I'll handle this."

The assassins grew closer. Blades unsheathed. Killing intent surged. One pointed at Wira.

"Move, boy. You have no idea what you're getting into."

Wira wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood.

"What business? You're the ones interrupting lunch."

The air around him shifted. Leaves rustled backward. The campfire flickered—swept by his inner energy, the blue-tinged Sura.

Laksmi froze. "He's... he's not just some random warrior..."

One assassin stepped forward. "Fool. Die with her if you wish."

He lunged, sword stabbing toward Wira's chest—

But Wira merely leaned aside. Effortless.

The sword missed. Wira's elbow struck his ribs from the side.

"BAMM!!"

The man flew into a tree, knocked out instantly.

Two remained, stunned. Before they could act, Wira exhaled slowly and turned.

"You can come too—one at a time or together."

Blue energy surged from his palms. The ground beneath him cracked slightly.

"W-What sect teaches that technique?" one muttered.

Wira smiled faintly. "No idea. I learned it from my Grandpa... in the mountains."

Laksmi stared, speechless. "That's not basic... that's master-level..."

One attacker swung his blade—a curved arc slicing through air. But Wira leapt over it, hovered briefly, and landed behind him.

"DASH!"

A spinning kick smashed his head.

"UGH!"

Another down.

The last one stepped back, trembling.

"T-The Night Shadow Sect... won't forget this!"

"Forget what?" Wira asked. "I don't even know who you are."

In a flash, he stepped forward. Too fast to follow.

One gentle strike to the chest—

"BAAMM!!"

The final attacker flew back, hit a tree, and crumpled.

Silence.

All enemies were gone. Only footprints and broken branches remained.

Laksmi stood frozen, sweat on her brow. Wira calmly sat near the fire, picking up the now-cool chicken.

"Done. No more interruptions. Let's eat."

Laksmi stared at him, mouth agape. Slowly, she sat down again—still shaking.

In front of her, the young man who had just defeated three assassins...

...was casually munching on roast chicken, as if it had all been a minor inconvenience before lunch

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📌 *Author's Note:* 

Wira finally steps into the real world… and within minutes, he calls a girl's chest "muscles" 😅

From cluelessness to kicking assassins mid-lunch — he really doesn't do "normal."

What do you think about Wira and Laksmi's first meeting? 

Would you trust someone who just shared their chicken with you before knocking out three killers?

Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to vote or add this book to your library 💙