The sky was still pink with dawn when Jaka stepped into the a small tent. Ra Kuti was already there, arms folded, his brow deeply furrowed as if every thought carved new lines on his face.
Dyah Netarja arrived a moment later.
A quiet fire crackled in the center of the room. Around it, maps lay unrolled, wooden tokens marked paths and settlements, while parchment filled with hurried scrawl fluttered under the wind.
"Three villages west," Ra Kuti began, tapping one with a red stone. "Randutangi, Besole, and Trenceng."
"Two villages to the east," Dyah Netarja added. "Suluwangi and Mekarjati."
"Each within a day's ride. If we want access to their routes, we need to offer something solid," said Jaka.
"Something they don't already have," Dyah Netarja added. Her fingers brushed over the map like a strategist caressing a battlefield. "Or something they'll need soon."
Jaka leaned back against the pillar, arms crossed. "Or something we fake until it becomes real."
Ra Kuti blinked. "Explain."
Jaka's gaze dropped to the fire, his voice casual. "Three years ago, when I was just a kid messing around near the old cliff trail, I found these weird greenish rocks under a collapsed ridge. Thought they looked cool, so I kept a few in my stash."
Ra Kuti raised an eyebrow. "Greenish rocks?"
"Yeah. Didn't think much of it. I was seven. I thought they were something cool charm, so I keep it without tell anyone. Only recently realized—those were copper ores."
Ra Kuti's brows rose, impressed despite himself.
Jaka continued, "And there's more. Not far from there, I also found something else. Looked like chunks of dark grey metal, heavy and sharp-edged."
Ra Kuti frowned. "You're telling me you found copper and steel?"
Jaka shrugged, playing it off. "I guess so."
That was when Dyah Netarja narrowed her eyes at him. "No child finds two rare ores by accident. Especially when the elders of Kalentang, who have lived here their whole lives, never reported anything."
Her voice wasn't angry—just curious calculating.
Jaka met her gaze calmly. "Maybe it was just luck. That's part of life, isn't it? Sometimes the winds favor fools."
Her stare lingered, sharp as a blade testing for weakness. Then, slowly, she looked away.
That changed the tone of the room. Ra Kuti stood straighter. Dyah Netarja looked at the map with new eyes, tapping the area Jaka had mentioned.
"Then we have something real," she said. "Not a promise. Not a favor. Something real."
Silence returned, thoughtful and heavy.
Then Ra Kuti stepped closer to the fire, lowering his voice. "We send no messengers. No letters. If we act, we move in silence."
Dyah Netarja's expression sharpened. "A direct approach?"
"Yes," Ra Kuti nodded. "I propose a small team. Jaka, Dyah Netarja as the negotiator—your charisma, intellect, and bloodline carry the weight of future Majapahit. I'm sure Your Highness name will be useful tool. Jaka, you'll go too. You know the terrain, and your instincts are... useful."
"I'm not much for speeches," Jaka replied, arms crossed again.
"You're not there to speak," Kuti said plainly. "You're there to guard. And to carve out a new trade route. Check the safety of each road."
Dyah Netarja tilted her head. "And the guards?"
"I'll send two of my most trusted soldiers," Kuti said. "Their loyalty is unquestionable. They'll protect you both—and report only to me."
Jaka smirked. "Sounds like a secret mission."
Ra Kuti's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because it is. There are spies everywhere, perharp even in Kalentang. Your safety isn't some risk I'm willing to take, Your Highness. Assassination attempts on you would derail the future of Majapahit. The fewer who know about this, the better."
Dyah Netarja's face grew still. She said nothing, but her hand went to her side, where the hilt of her ceremonial blade rested. A reminder of her past—and of how many times she'd survived it.
Jaka, meanwhile, glanced at Ra Kuti with newfound respect. The man didn't just bark orders. He planned and anticipated.
He moved ten steps ahead.
It wasn't just brute strength that made Ra Kuti a Senapati—a commander. It was also the quiet intellect behind the muscle.
"And the route?" Dyah asked.
"I'll chart it," Jaka replied. "We hit Randutangi first. Then arc north to Besole and Trenceng, loop east toward Suluwangi and Mekarjati. That gives us five villages if we include the minor hamlets in between. I'll mark new pathing routes along the way—faster, safer trade roads, if I can."
"Good," Ra Kuti said. "But remember—this is not conquest. It's building foundation. We offer what they need. And in return, we ask for cooperation."
Dyah Netarja smiled, that quiet, sharp kind of smile that could cut a man and leave him thanking her for it. "Let's hope everything worked."
Jaka said nothing. No one here knew what he truly was—not Dyah Netarja, not Kuti, not even the villagers. And maybe that was for the best.
Because the more Kalentang rose, the more the balance of the world trembled.
And none of them—not even the would-be architects—realized that the blueprints had already been drawn.
The meeting was over. Plans drawn, roles assigned, and tomorrow they would set out.
But before they all dispersed, Jaka lingered near the edge of the firelight. There was something on his mind, and for once, he decided not to bury it.
He stepped toward Dyah Netarja.
"Netarja," he said, his voice quieter now. "Can I make a small request?"
She turned to him, one eyebrow slightly raised. "A request? From me?"
"Yeah… something simple, I hope," he said. "Before we depart, I was hoping my friend Laksita could gain permission to access your book collection."
"Laksita?" Netarja repeated, the name curling on her tongue like something bitter. "A scholar?"
"She's… trying to be. Waisya-born like me," Jaka explained. "She's smart. But access is difficult for us—you know how it is."
For a breath, Dyah Netarja didn't respond.
Her lips were slightly parted, but her eyes were sharp—piercing. That name—Laksita—lingered like an unwelcome shadow. Her posture stiffened, subtle but clear to anyone watching closely.
"She," Netarja repeated. "So it's a girl, then?"
Jaka nodded, innocently. "Yes."
There was a pause.
The fire crackled between them. Her gaze didn't move, but something behind it had. Like a curtain drawn back to reveal not rage, not anger—just a quiet, complicated storm.
Dyah Netarja's tone remained composed, but her words were chosen like blades. "So that's what's on your mind? A girl? A scholar?"
"I just thought she deserved the chance," Jaka said, unaware—or perhaps pretending not to notice—the subtle frost in her voice. "And I figured… you might be able to help."
Netarja's smile was tight, thin. Not unkind—but far from warm. "Of course," she said finally. "I'll send someone to inform her. She'll have access."
Jaka's face lit up with a boyish grin. "Really? Thank you. I owe you one."
Her smile faltered for a split second, then she recovered with a graceful tilt of her chin. "Good. I'll remember that."
Jaka raised an eyebrow, amused. "Hopefully you won't use it against me."
But Dyah Netarja stepped past him slowly, her voice like silk over steel. "Oh no, Jaka. I'd never waste such a favor. And I take full advantage of it… to make you an offer you can't refuse."
"Please show mercy…"
Her laugh was quiet, elegant, and somehow dangerous. She didn't look back as she walked away, but her thoughts lingered behind—wrapped in the name of a girl she'd never met. Laksita.
Who was this girl to him? Why did his voice soften when he said her name And why—why did that matter so much?
Dyah Netarja didn't have the answer.
As Jaka stood still, letting Dyah Netarja's unreadable smile fade into the flickering firelight, a low voice startled him.
"Jaka… follow me."
Ra Kuti was already walking toward a shadowed corridor. Jaka followed silently, the sound of their steps muffled by the woven mats beneath them.
Ra Kuti knelt before it with quiet reverence and opened the lid, as if unveiling a relic from another life.
From within, he drew a blade—not metal, but deep-brown wood, dense, polished to a quiet gleam. Its surface bore the faint marks of past training—grips worn smooth by time and sweat.
He turned and held it out to Jaka.
"This was mine," Kuti said. "Made from Ironwood. It doesn't break easy. Not even against steel—if your form is right, even steel can be parried correctly. Even steel can be handle with wits."
Jaka stepped closer, took the blade with both hands. It was heavier than it looked. Alive with memory.
"It's heavy," he murmured.
"It's honest," Kuti replied. "It punishes sloppy form. Use it right, and you'll live long enough to hold a real blade. Use it wrong… and it'll snap your wrist before your enemy gets the chance."
Jaka tested the balance—front-heavy, unforgiving. His fingers curled around the grip like it belonged to him. "So this is part of my training?"
Kuti met his eyes. "No. This is your training. The paths ahead won't be safe—bandits and desperation makes monsters out of men. But this…" He placed a firm hand on Jaka's shoulder. "This isn't just about survival."
His voice dropped low.
"If something goes wrong—if chaos swallows your plans—your only duty is to bring Dyah Netarja back to Kalentang alive. No matter what."
Jaka hesitated. Then nodded, once. "I understand."
Ra Kuti's gaze lingered a second longer. His next words were quieter—closer to a prayer than an order.
"You've got heart, boy. But remember—heart doesn't stop arrows. Stay sharp. Don't trust silence too easily. That's where the screams usually start."
Jaka looked at the ironwood sword again, then tucked it carefully under his arm. Something in it called to him—not as a weapon, but as a companion. A witness.
From the hallway, Dyah Netarja had watched. Arms folded, face unreadable. Then, almost to herself, she muttered:
"Ironwood and dust. Luck and bloodlines. Strange things to build an empire with."
Jaka gave her a sidelong glance. "Stranger things have worked."
She smiled—just barely—but the curve of her lips was shadowed.
Outside, the sky had turned gold. Dawn rising slow and deliberate, like breath before battle. But inside this room, something ancient had stirred.
A story rewriting itself.
And as they stepped out into the sunlight, no one looked back. Because the future was already walking ahead.
This wasn't just a rebellion. This was the game he create a long with his team. The world and it's systems no longer obeying its architect.
And Jaka?
Jaka was the DLC—content no one expected, rewriting story from inside code.