Bayu, still reeling from the news of Nugget’s crash, snapped his gaze to the intruder. The man’s face was oddly familiar, a vague, unpleasant memory stirring in the depths of Bayu’s mind. “You’re… Ardan?” Bayu squinted, trying to place the face. “The CEO of that… that company that built the parking garage over the community plot in Jalan Anyelir? The one that smelled faintly of industrial solvent for months?” Ardan’s sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “A parking structure, you insipid farmer. A necessary urban redevelopment. And what if I am? That pathetic patch of weeds you called a ‘garden’ was an eyesore. A blight on progress.” Bayu stared at him, bile rising in his throat. The community plot. His first real attempt at urban farming, before the Spire. He’d poured his meager savings, his sweat, his ridiculous optimism, into that tiny sliver of urban wasteland. He remembered the wilted leaves, the sudden blight that swept through his nascent patch of kale and kangkung, the metallic tang in the soil. He’d blamed himself, his lack of skill. Not a multi-billion credit corporation. He remembered the bitter taste of defeat, the quiet shame as the bulldozers moved in, the concrete poured over his dreams. Bayu set his boots firmly into the loam. “You poisoned my plants,” he stated, the usual joviality absent from his voice. Ardan let out a dismissive bark of laughter. “Poisoned? We merely cleared a parcel of land that was… underperforming. For a new luxury condominium complex, mind you. Your little patch of dirt was in the way. Just like this… overgrown nuisance you’ve cultivated here.” He gestured broadly at the glowing, pulsing tomato vines that reached to the greenhouse ceiling, each fruit the size of a child’s head. Citra, standing beside Bayu, her hand already hovering near her hilt, sensed the dangerous shift in Bayu’s demeanor. His usual flippancy was gone, replaced by a quiet, unsettling stillness. “He’s here for the Spire’s core connection, Bayu,” she warned, her voice low. “That relic… it’s the Soul-Shearer’s Blade. It can sever spiritual links, steal titles.” Ardan chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Sharp, Guildmaster. But a little too late.” He raised the implement, a jagged, obsidian-like dagger that seemed to drink the ambient light. It pulsed with a sickly, violet energy, humming with suppressed power. “This entire tower, this ‘Scourge’ you’ve created, it’s all just a farm to you, isn’t it? I’ll take it. All of it. The power, the title, the market. The Conglomerate needs new ventures, and God-Admin of the Overgrown HOA has a certain ring to it.” He plunged the tip of the Soul-Shearer’s Blade into the greenhouse floor, directly into a network of glowing roots connected to Bayu’s core irrigation system. A wail of tortured mana echoed through the structure, a sound that grated on the soul. The obsidian flared, a malevolent eye opening in its hilt. Ardan’s eyes narrowed, focused on Bayu. “Now, to sever the parasite from its host. A simple, painless… extraction.” A tendril of pure, concentrated shadow, laced with corrosive arcane energy, shot from the blade’s tip, twisting and coiling through the air like a venomous serpent. It shrieked as it hurtled towards Bayu’s chest, aiming for the invisible threads that bound him to the Spire’s heart. Bayu stood frozen against the trellis, breath catching in his throat. “Bayu!” Citra’s cry was sharp, desperate. Without a moment’s hesitation, she shoved Bayu violently aside. The shadow tendril, deprived of its original target, swerved with an intelligent malice and slammed directly into Citra’s abdomen. The impact was silent, yet devastating. Citra drew a sharp, rattling gasp. The vibrant mana protecting her body dissipated instantly, replaced by an internal darkness that spread like ink. Her hand flew to her stomach, crumpling, as a sickening green light pulsed beneath her skin. She stumbled back, falling heavily into a thicket of the massive, ripe tomato vines. The overripe fruits burst around her, splattering their sweet, tangy pulp onto her armor as she collapsed, unmoving, amidst the broken foliage. Bayu scrambled to her side, his usual nonchalance utterly annihilated. He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over her unmoving form. “Citra? Citra!” His voice was raw, unfamiliar even to himself. The casual, almost theatrical mask he wore for the world had cracked, revealing something cold and sharp beneath. His gaze, usually so full of gentle amusement, turned to Ardan. The CEO, momentarily startled by Citra’s intervention, now wore a smug expression. [WARNING: Bio-Signature 'Citra' critically compromised. Soul-Link Integrity at 0.00%. Lethal Mana Corruption detected. Hostile Title Acquisition Aborted. Recalibrating threat assessment.] [QUERY: User 'Bayu' has suffered critical infringement on registered assets. Authorize 'Lethal Harvesting' protocol on Bio-Signature 'Ardan' for maximum yield?] The Dharma Interface’s voice was as bureaucratic and unfeeling as ever, but for the first time, Bayu welcomed its cold efficiency. Bayu didn’t answer. His eyes, fixed on Ardan, were devoid of humor, devoid of mercy. He felt a power stir within him, vast and cold, answering a call he hadn’t known he could make. Then, a low, gentle voice cut through the sudden, chilling silence. “Oh dear. That won’t do at all.” Mbah Suro emerged from the shadows of a giant durian tree at the edge of the greenhouse, casually plucking a thorny fruit. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “The Soul-Shearer’s Blade is nasty. Cuts you right off from… well, everything. Only way to mend a tear like that, for someone so deeply connected to this Spire’s ambient flow, is to feed her the heart of the Spire itself.”

The Greenhouse Interrogation