THUD! The four people sitting on the chairs were instantly startled by the sound of Wandarimo's hand slamming onto the long, elegantly carved white stone table.
"I don't want this to happen again!"
He straightened his body, which was wrapped in a white beskap with silver accents. His shoulder-length wavy brown hair was neatly combed back, covered by a white blangkon embellished with several gems in the center.
"We indeed train every generation to possess the spirit of a true knight."
Slowly, he took a step forward. "Many young people nowadays understand how a relic should properly be used." His square jaw, covered with a fierce beard, swept over each of the four high officials of the Alliance sitting gravely beside the long, carved white stone table whose entire surface was dominated by white.
"No, do not think like that!" An elder whose face was almost entirely covered by a soft, chest-length white beard tried to stand up. He wore a snug krukup robe resembling a beskap uniform with a gradient from gold to white, draped with a white sash featuring the Alliance emblem hanging neatly down the front. His entire appearance looked clean, elegant, and majestic. He pointed his walking stick forward, then walked over toward Wandarimo. "You must remember that this Circle of Darkness takes a heavy toll..."
Wandarimo's firm eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, stared at the white-bearded man beside him, whose hair was wrapped in a turban-like headcloth. "Yet we cannot always stand by and watch someone we have forged into a knight only for us to execute."
"This is not a matter of who or how they used the relic!" another white-bearded elder interrupted. His head was adorned with a turban-like white ketu coiled upward, decorated with a silver jamang that nearly covered half of its side, joining with sumping and curving elegantly forward over his forehead with pearl and diamond bead ornaments. He turned his body toward the people still sitting at the white table. "The issue is: why did he break the law?"
Wandarimo's muscular palm and fingers touched the shoulder of the white-bearded elder, whom they knew as a resi. He slowly turned the frail, slightly bent body of the resi until they were facing each other.
Wandarimo leaned in close, his face so near that the tips of their noses nearly touched. "He used the relic to save the villagers."
Wandarimo re-emphasized, "Do you not understand?" He turned away again, now walking slightly around the table. "I believe this is already wrong..."
"SINCE WHEN HAVE YOU CHANGED, BROTHER?!"
A middle-aged man shouted in frustration. His body was broad and sturdy, clad in a white beskap with gold and silver accents, complete with shoulder guards covering a sash adorned with the Alliance emblem. His thick black mustache stood out in sharp contrast against his clean, hairless chin. He stood up, his firmness and dignity matching Wandarimo's own. "What Master Waluyo Karman said is true..."
Both of his palms pressed onto the white table's surface to support his body as his gaze swept across the faces around him. "Come, let us not falter!"
Wandarimo's rugged face turned sideways, staring at the man who had just shouted. "You ask SINCE WHEN?" He walked over toward him, his face coming so close that it almost brushed against the man's mustache. "Yet you have never known what it feels like to be a former Crescent Wanderer."
"For fifteen, nearly twenty years, I have pondered how to purify the Oathkeeper's Soul."
His broad chest expanded, letting out a long sigh.
"It feels as though my life has been spent merely trying to unearth something that may or may not be purifiable. Who knows whether a way truly exists or not," Wandarimo confessed candidly.
The old turbaned elder shook his head upon hearing Wandarimo's words. "I am starting to worry about you..." Gently, he bent his body once more, attempting to sit back down on the elegantly carved white stone chair beside the long table.
"Then what else? This is the reality! For a thousand years, not a single person crowned as the Crescent Wanderer has ever succeeded in purifying the Circle of Darkness!"
"Are we going to keep going on like this?!"
A brief silence fell over the room.
"I agree with Wandarimo."
The man nodded slowly. The dark, bluish rings encircling his eyes had become a defining signature feature of his persona—born from decades of pursuing spiritual discipline, reading realm-shrouded signs, and untangling knot after knot of incantations incomprehensible to ordinary folk.
His gaze shifted, sweeping across every face in that all-white room.
"In truth, I have been thinking along the same lines. Perhaps a difference in perspective is precisely what we need to alter a situation that has remained at a standstill for so long."
Having spoken these words, his fingers gently stroked his graying beard, while the look in his eyes remained calm, as if still weighing possibilities unseen by others.
The white-bearded elder approached Wandarimo, trembling. His gentle eyes were filled with hope. "Then what is your plan?"
Wandarimo's fingers reached into the pocket of his beskap. With a slow yet deliberate motion, his right hand pulled out a ring made of gold. The ring featured a sturdy mount, yet it contained no gemstone whatsoever.
Slowly, he placed it on the white table.
"This..."
Its golden sheen softly reflected the light from the hanging lamp in the room, whose walls were entirely crafted from elegantly carved white stone.
"That is the Kumenteng Ring!" Darmaji's body froze, his eyes fixed on the object Wandarimo had just laid down.
"Yes..." Wandarimo nodded slowly. He looked at each person present in the seemingly private room.
The man with the deep black shadows around his eyes shook his head slightly. His gaze remained locked on the ring resting on the white table. He stepped closer with caution. "What is special about that ring?"
"I will offer it as a prize in the upcoming Seven-Year Contest."
The turbaned elder fell silent. His back leaned against the white cushion of the carved stone chair, while his eyes stared blankly at the ornate wall carving made of white stone, intricate and elegant.
"Do not act recklessly. Remember what you are contemplating..."
Slowly, he shifted his gaze back to Wandarimo.
"That is a sacred relic, son..."
Wandarimo merely replied with a nod. "Because I am certain... with this, the true Crescent Wanderer will emerge."
The black-mustached man stepped forward swiftly. Upon reaching Wandarimo, he no longer maintained the composure of a duke. Both of his knees slowly sank to the white stone floor.
Thud!
He bowed his head deeply. His palms joined together in a respectful sembah, trembling as he fought back the surging emotions in his chest.
"Brother Wandarimo..." he murmured faintly. "I beg of you... please do not do this."
The room was instantly cloaked in an unusual silence. None of them expected a duke of the Alliance to cast aside his pride and kneel in earnest plea before a former Crescent Wanderer.
The black-mustached man slowly raised his face. His eyes were red, yet his gaze remained filled with profound respect.
"I humbly apologize if I am being presumptuous by interfering in your family's affairs with the Supreme Leader of the Alliance." His head bowed once more. "However, this decision... could alter the fate of all Sanajayan. There is still another way."
He remained prostrated in solemn devotion, his forehead almost touching the floor.
"I beg of you... please do not do this."
Wandarimo instead took a step back, as if reluctant to accept such a deep gesture of reverence. His gaze rested upon the middle-aged duke, and he let out a heavy sigh.
"Stand up, Darmaji," he said quietly. "Never lower your honor before me. You are a Duke of the Alliance."
Yet Darmaji did not budge. His hands remained tightly clasped together, as if holding onto his very last shred of hope.
Wandarimo closed his eyes for a moment before finally speaking in a resolute voice.
"My decision is final."
The sentence echoed softly in the quiet room.
The white-bearded elder instantly lost his remaining strength. His chest beat irregularly, as though he had run out of breath. With a pale face, he could only stare at Wandarimo, unable to utter a single word. The hope he had held onto until now seemed to shatter in an instant.