“The Heart?” Banyu repeated, the word tasting strange on his tongue. Jati’s glare intensified, but Cahya held her ground, her gaze unwavering as she faced her cousin. “It’s not just a symbol, Banyu. Kota Hujan rests on the petrified remains of the colossal beast, the Induk Segara. Its spiritual core, the Heart, still pulsates deep beneath the city. It’s what sustains our Batin flow, stabilizes the weather patterns that feed the rivers, even dictates the very integrity of the plateaus we live on. But it’s… ailing. For generations, its rhythm has grown erratic. My family, the Pusaka, are the keepers of its forgotten lore. We’ve sought a cure, a stabilization, for decades.” Jati scoffed, a dark laugh. “And you believe *he* is the answer? A walking catastrophe, fueled by a parasitic artifact?” “The prophecies speak of an unburdened Batin, a naturally flowing wellspring that would resonate with the Heart’s ailing pulse, harmonizing it,” Cahya insisted, her voice gaining strength. “Your system, Banyu, it’s not just raw power. It’s pure, unchecked resonance. Our ancestors foresaw a vessel that could mend the Heart, not through ritual sacrifice, but through sheer, unadulterated presence. That’s why the dormant protocols awoke when you found this ruin. The Heart is calling to you.” Banyu looked from Cahya’s face to Jati’s glare, then down at his own palms. To think his power, the force he’d seen corrupt his future self, could also be a balm. “How… how do I even reach it?” “The Heart lies in the deepest chamber beneath the city’s central spire,” Cahya explained. “Access is highly restricted. Only the victors of the Akademi’s annual ‘Piala Naga Langit’ tournament are granted passage for a blessing ritual. It’s tradition.” Jati’s black glass orb hummed, its reflective skin catching the torchlight. “So, you’ll gamble the world on a tradition? On *him*? I won’t allow it. The future I remember… it can’t happen again.” He lunged, the orb radiating a chilling, sealing pressure. Cahya reacted instantly, a flash of her own Batin flaring around her hands, a defensive barrier of shimmering jade green. “Not here, Jati! Not now!” The clash of their Batin echoed, a muffled boom that shook the flagstones. Finding no purchase against his cousin’s focused barrier, Jati retreated into the shadows, the orb’s low hum trailing off behind him. Banyu looked at Cahya, who stood panting, her barrier dissipating. “The Piala Naga Langit,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “When is it?” Two days later, the Arena Puncak Awan shook with thousands of shouting voices. The Piala Naga Langit was the highlight of the Akademi year, a brutal trial where students fought for rank and access to the lower vaults. From the stands, Cahya watched Banyu walk into the arena, his unassuming figure stark against the vibrant Batin-infused banners. His first challenger was a familiar face. Tulus, the bully from the bridge, now radiating a new arrogance, his Batin core visibly stronger, glowing with a deep scarlet hue. He had the backing of his influential family, a renowned clan of Batin cultivators. Tulus sneered, his gaze dripping with contempt. “Look what the current dragged in. Still can’t take a hint, street rat? This time, there’s no river to catch you, and no old man to stop me.” He cracked his knuckles, a gust of scarlet Batin swirling around him. “Prepare to be humiliated. My family’s prestige demands it.” Banyu merely stood still, his expression unreadable. The referee, a senior Batin Master, raised his hand. “Begin!” Tulus roared, charging forward, his form blurring into a red streak. His fists, wreathed in crackling Batin, aimed for Banyu’s head, a clear intent to inflict maximum pain. Banyu did not move. He did not dodge. He did not even flinch. Just as Tulus’s fist was a hair’s breadth from his face, a notification flashed in Banyu’s perception. [New Skill Activated: Langkah Seribu Bayangan] And then, the world fractured. Banyu remained in his spot, yet a hundred identical Banyu figures erupted from his original position, each one a perfect, vibrant after-image. They didn’t merely blur; they were fully formed, distinct echoes, appearing in every direction around Tulus simultaneously. One Banyu stood directly behind Tulus, another above, several more on each flank, moving with impossible, soundless grace. Tulus halted, his momentum dying as his eyes darted frantically, trying to track the impossible multitude. Confusion warred with terror on his face. He swung wildly, his red Batin lashing out, but his fists whistled through empty air. The true Banyu, still standing in his original position, simply lifted a foot, then placed it back down. The gesture was infinitesimally small, almost imperceptible. But as his heel touched the ground, every single one of the hundred Banyu echoes simultaneously launched a single, precise kick. They connected with Tulus’s limbs, torso, and head, not with force, but with a disorienting, unbalancing impact. It was a thousand whispers of wind, each one perfectly timed to disrupt his balance, his vision, his very sense of self. Tulus stumbled, arms flailing, his Batin sputtering. He collapsed face-first into the arena dust with a sharp thud. He tried to push himself up, but the sheer disorientation held him captive, his mind unable to process the hundred phantom strikes. The referee stared, then slowly raised his hand. “Victor: Banyu!” The arena went dead silent, followed by scattered murmurs. Cahya, watching from the stands, exhaled slowly, a faint smile touching her lips. Banyu looked at the crumpled Tulus, then at the single notification. [Langkah Seribu Bayangan: Batin Cost – 0. Duration – Instantaneous. Effect – Creates 100 perfect Batin echoes capable of non-lethal physical interaction.] His subsequent matches were a blur of similar, awe-inspiring displays. Rivals, some boasting ancestral clan techniques, others wielding dense Batin constructs, found themselves utterly helpless. Banyu never seemed to strain, never took a full step. He simply stood, and his foes found themselves disarmed, disoriented, or simply pushed out of bounds by the sheer, overwhelming presence of his phantom army. The tournament, typically a crucible of skill, became his personal exhibition, unnerving the city elders who watched from the high balconies. His power wasn’t just immense; it was effortless, detached, and growing with every ‘step’ he took in the arena, even if those steps were merely internal or the minute shifts of his weight. [Synchronization Complete. Batin Core +21,789] [Synchronization Complete. Batin Core +24,112] [Synchronization Complete. Batin Core +26,501] He swept through the brackets, an unstoppable force, until only the final match remained. The arena was silent, charged with anticipation. The final challenger was traditionally the reigning champion or a rising star from a prominent clan. As the name was called, a solitary figure walked out from the tunnel. It was Jati. His gaze was icy and steady, devoid of his earlier panic. In his hand, the glass orb thrummed with a heavy black glow, resting naturally against his knuckles. “The rules state that a challenger may replace an injured combatant, with the consent of both parties,” Jati’s voice echoed, resonant and commanding. “The Akademi Masters have granted my request. My opponent agrees.” He looked directly at Banyu, his gaze unwavering. Banyu had agreed to nothing, yet the proctors nodded, the crowd went quiet, and the head referee held up a hand. Jati ignored them all, his focus solely on Banyu. “This isn’t a tournament match, Banyu,” Jati declared, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. With a sharp yell, he slammed the glass relic against the flagstones. Dark tendrils of Batin erupted outward, splitting the flagstones and warping the perimeter. The polished floor cracked, revealing abyssal depths, and the towering walls rippled, transforming into a chaotic landscape of jagged, shifting shadows. The entire arena became a distorted, nightmare realm, pulsing with the forbidden power of the artifact. “The world can’t afford to wait for you to become a monster. I’ll end it now!”

Tournament of Phantoms