The wooden gates of the palace stood wide open, like a giant mouth welcoming the arrival of a small group from the west. The sound of horses hooves ridden by Tumenggung Wirasaba shook the courtyard; flags fluttered above the walls, displaying alternating shades of brown and gold under the sun that was beginning to set in the west. Ardhan walked between the shadows of Tumenggung Wirasaba on his right, looking handsome and authoritative, while on his left stood Raden Bagus Wiratma, calm as a silent morning star.
Since his success in the battle in the village, Ardhan Wicaksana's name had risen higher than he could have imagined. In the eyes of the community, he was already considered a hero. Among the soldiers, he was seen as a figure to be reckoned with. In his heart, Ardhan remained focused on his reading and recitation: Al-Fatihah and prayers for protection, a silence that clung to him like breath. He realized that entering the palace was a step into a web of intrigue, and that another challenge awaited him here, not only physical, but also from the intentions of those in power.
The main hall felt peaceful yet heavy with tension. Beneath the high roof, teak pillars held the silence of the palace; the gamelan was silent, only the wind whispering through the leaves in the garden. In front of the throne sat a young man with a stern face, Danang Sutawijaya. His gaze was reminiscent of an eagle's eyes, watching every movement of anyone who entered. On either side of the throne were elderly figures: Ki Ageng Pemanahan stood tall, his white hair falling like an unshakeable cloud; nearby, several chief ministers and commanders were gathered, talking quietly.
Tumenggung Wirasaba first bowed in respect, then introduced him. "Kanjeng Panembahan, this is the young man we met in our village, Ardhan Wicaksana. He helped the people against the robbers and demonstrated rare skills."
Senopati's expression remained flat. "Ardhan Wicaksana, your name has been reported. Tell us, where are you from?"
Ardhan bowed his head. In this case, he chose to be honest but still cautious. "Kanjeng Panembahan, I am not a nobleman. I came from far away, a city, and got lost after reading an ancient palm leaf manuscript. I don't want to cause chaos; my only goal is to find my way home or help those in need."
On the side of the hall stood a small group of people from the palace, several curious soldiers, and a heavily armed man with a cold stare: that was Raden Singajaya, commander of Pajang, who was present as a military envoy. His eyes stared sharply at Ardhan, not because he knew the man before, but because his instincts were wary of anything unfamiliar and quickly attracted public attention. He stepped forward while keeping his distance but still raised his voice.
"Those words are easy to say, young man. But the kingdom has many people who are good at talking. We need proof of action. You are helping the people, that is good. But who can guarantee that you are not an envoy from another party who wants to destroy Mataram?" Raden Singajaya asserted in a cold tone.
Among them, Ki Ageng Pemanahan gave a gentle smile. "Suspicion is natural. The state was born out of war and betrayal. But judging the truth is not based solely on intuition; it involves testing the heart and deeds." He looked at Ardhan with affection. "However, looking at Panembahan, Gusti, do you want to test this young man?"
Senopati stood firm. "The test will reveal everything. It's not because he's a stranger, but because Mataram must survive. If he is righteous, he will follow the law and fight for the people. If not," he glanced around, his remaining words sounding vague. "Starting tomorrow, Ardhan Wicaksana: you will be assigned to the western border post with Tumenggung Wirasaba. There are reports of a group of bandits conspiring in the forest. Capture them if you can, or fight them if necessary. If you help the people without malicious intent, Mataram will reward you. If it is dangerous, the law will take action."
Ardhan bowed deeply. "I accept, Your Highness. I only want to protect. I will obey fair orders. "
The order eased the tense atmosphere. Raden Singajaya refrained from commenting, but his face and gaze remained cold, saving his suspicions for another time. In the pavilion, silence enveloped the spoken words. Ardhan felt a new pressure: now he was involved in a game of power.
Night fell, and Ardhan spent the night in a small pavilion near the soldiers' training ground. In that simple room, he opened his Quran and prayed again. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja sat beside him, offering him a cup of warm tea. "You have passed the first challenge," said Raden Bagus Wiratmaja softly. "In the eyes of the people, you have become a small hero. In the eyes of the palace, you have just been given a rope that connects you to greater attention."
Ardhan looked outside, seeing the courtyard where the soldiers were training. "I'm afraid, Bagus. Not because of blows or swords, I can handle that, but because of deception. In the palace, words can kill without a trace of blood."
Bagus nodded in agreement. "That's right. In the palace, politics is intertwined with religion, shame, and gratitude. There are sincere people, like Ki Ageng Pemanahan, and there are also those who seek profit, perhaps some whose names we do not yet know but who will have an impact. Hold on to your beliefs, Ardhan. Knowledge without guidance from the heart can easily become a sin."
The next day, they left for the western post. Tumenggung Wirasaba led them in military fashion: disciplined, firm, and straightforward. Along the way, Ardhan saw soldiers stationed along the road, small villages appearing from behind the trees, and warning signs about bandits. At the western post, the atmosphere was different from the villages he had known before: there was tension in the air, traces of fighting, and the remains of fires from the previous night's attack.
The first days on duty were hard work: patrolling, surveillance, setting up observation posts, and interacting with people who were separated by fear. Ardhan used his limited authority in a simple way: listening, calming, helping to repair leaky shields, and providing medicine for minor injuries. When the opportunity to face the robbers arrived, it was not because of his arrogance, but because a group of people attacked farmers in the dark of night.
The battle was nothing like a formal duel on the field. Under the fog, among the tree roots, the robbers attacked from all directions. Ardhan and Tumenggung Wirasaba stood protecting each other; Wirasaba served as a rough protector with his soldier skills, while Ardhan moved nimbly between gaps. He used the Tapak Naga Menggulung Awan technique not to look impressive, but to protect the helpless and frightened residents. The wave of energy he released knocked down several attackers; the others fled after realizing that their opponents were not ordinary people.
After the conflict, in their simple dwelling, they lit a fire, tended to their wounds, and prayed. Tumenggung Wirasaba patted Ardhan gently on the shoulder. "You fought not for recognition, but to protect. That is what sets you apart, young man."
But when night fell again, Ardhan sensed something different: rumors among the soldiers about his name now being recorded. Raden Singajaya, who on several brief occasions at the palace had been seen weighing everything like a cost-benefit analysis, began sending small reports. Ardhan could not see the contents of the reports, but his mind told him that invisible spies were now paying closer attention.
Amidst the activities of war and patrols, there were moments of silence. Ki Ageng Pemanahan took the time to visit the post, sat next to Ardhan, and gazed at the stars. "You come from the same door as that ancient manuscript, don't you? There are things that cannot be understood by calculation alone. But remember, the greatest power is maintaining sincerity." Ki Ageng placed his thin hand on Ardhan's shoulder, which felt like a safeguard.
Ardhan nodded. In his heart grew a determination greater than simply returning to his original time: if he could help, uphold justice, and defend his faith, then his presence in Mataram was not a coincidence. He looked far ahead: intrigue, war, prayer, all would bind his fate to this land. But that night, under a foreign sky, he decided to hold on to one simple promise: to use knowledge to protect, not to conquer; to use a heart submissive to Allah to face worldly temptations that could burn the soul.
Under the light of the lantern, the faint sound of gamelan music could be heard from afar, a rhythm that reminded him of the origin of all this: the library, the glowing palm leaves, the passage of time. Wherever he was between the past and the present, there was one truth that would never change: trials come not to trap, but to reveal who truly guards the light. Ardhan took a deep breath, then closed his eyes for a moment, saying a prayer before sleep, preparing himself to face the days ahead.
To be continued...