Mist dripped from the cave ceiling like frozen veins reaching down from the sky of hell. The air inside Candramaya cave was heavy and damp, thick with the stench of sulfur, moss, and the unseen rot of burnt flesh. Echoes of water droplets striking the puddled earth merged with the panicked breath of a worthless young man.

Raka stood, eyes wide, facing the nightmare that closed in around him—the darkness felt real, suffocating, and absolute.

The only light came from the faint glow of Éra crystals embedded in the stone corners, their flickering light revealing the ancient reliefs carved into the walls: stories of sacrifice… and death. But tonight, those tales had come to life.

From within the darkness of Candramaya Cave, a Jakulangkung emerged, crawling with jerky, insect-like movements—quick, broken, like a giant bug mimicking a human’s gait. Its body was tall, gaunt, and twisted, as if its joints were never meant to stand upright. Its skin was a greenish-grey, damp and thin like a fish’s gills, twitching with each breath of air. Its head was barely shaped—like a fleshy bud that could bloom at any moment, revealing a gaping mouth filled with fangs and strange, pulsing ears that resembled flower petals, flaring open in search of the faintest sound. It listened with horrifying precision. Every drop of blood, every shaky breath from a hidden soul, was absorbed by those ears that opened and closed like lungs.

In silence, it stood frozen—like a statue. But the moment a sound emerged… it struck, with inhuman speed, slashing with curved claws sharp enough to rend stone. It was a stalker in silence, a predator of resonance.

At its forehead, embedded deep within, a sightless eye burned with the red glow of an ancient artifact—an ember-colored flame that radiated not just pressure, but spiritual coercion. Fear was no longer an emotion. It became a biological fact, stabbing into the human brain and igniting its most primal alarm: fight or flight.

At the front line, a Tamenggedi—a living shield, broad and resolute—stood firm. His back arched like a barrier of flesh, hands gripping a trembling shield. But behind him—fatal error.

The Pangreksa, the party’s healer, was panicked. The protective spell he cast was useless against the monster’s aura. It shattered in an instant, rebounding violently and striking the Tamenggedi’s stomach. Flesh and bone tore apart instantly. The warrior shrieked and was thrown into the cave wall, body collapsing like a deflated leather sack.

Raka stood frozen at the edge of the cavern. His heart pounded like it would burst from his chest. But it wasn’t just the horror before his eyes—something in the air… a psychic pressure from the creature’s presence… chilled him from spine to skull. His mind screamed to run, but his feet clung to the earth.

The lead Mantrawan stepped forward, casting high-level spells: Ajian Pethak Bayu, Gada Ratri, even Segara Tininggal. Balls of blazing energy shot forth and exploded—but the monster's body absorbed them all. Not a single wound. Only a low growl… and a guttural roar from a mouth full of black fangs.

Desperate, the Mantrawan began chanting his final spell—Ajian Blarak Geni—a high-tier incantation requiring a long ritual. Raka shouted, “NO! It's too long! You won’t finish in time!” But panic had already drowned out reason. The creature lunged and silenced him, gripping his head.

An explosion erupted as the spell failed mid-casting. The unstable japa circle triggered a backlash and—

BOOM!

The monster flinched. But the Mantrawan’s flesh was torn from his bones. Fire consumed his body from the inside out. The creature crushed his head like pulp, the sound of bones cracking and blistered skin popping echoing through the chamber, filling the air with the smell of seared flesh and burnt blood. Pieces of his body flung against the wall, painting the ancient carvings with entrails and gore.

On the floor, a Jawak Pedang crawled, gasping for air. His sword was snapped in two. His left arm bent the wrong way, blood dripping from his mouth. In a blink, the creature seized him, slammed his body like a sack of rice—bones snapping like twigs underfoot.

The Tamenggedi rose again, roaring with fury—only to be caught by the head. The monster slowly twisted his neck.

Crack... crack... CRACK!

The sound echoed, followed by the crunch of his skull breaking like a coconut shell.

Now, only the Pangreksa remained. He turned to Raka and said:

“Face your fear, Raka.”

He collapsed to his knees. Hands limp. Body shaking. He couldn’t move. He could only wait—until the monster stepped forward… and tore into him alive.

In the corner, Laras, the backup Mantrawan, trembled. She didn’t flee—but she didn’t move either. Her eyes were hollow, breath choked. She stared at Raka, and in her mind:

“I hate you. Why aren’t you doing anything, Raka?”

Raka held his breath. The screams, the wails, the sound of burning flesh and shattering bones assaulted his senses. His mind teetered on collapse. The artifact’s effect wrapped around his consciousness like a black fog, tightening.

But then...

"I must stay awake…"

Raka stepped backward… and plunged his hand into a nearby pool of boiling sulfur.

A scream tried to break from his mouth, but he held it in, biting down on a strip of his torn shirt. His body spasmed—the sheer pain slammed through every fear signal in his brain. The searing burn across his nerves triggered a wave of pure adrenaline.

In psychological terms from his original world, it was known as overriding trauma response via pain stimulus—forcing the body out of freeze mode.

The effect was instant.

Raka’s pupils dilated. His heartbeat steadied. He broke free from the monster’s aura.

“You’re not eternal. You’re just a recurring illusion. And I… am your disruption.”

Raka glanced around. Corpses. Steel. Broken swords and rising steam. But also… opportunity.

With memories from his original world, Raka began to analyze. This cave had an active Éra flow. Its walls reflected sound and pressure. The monster’s artifact absorbed heat-based spells. But what about… ultrasonic pressure? What about resonance interference?

His hand burned—but his mind was clear.

The creature’s footsteps pounded against the cave floor like hammers striking an empty drum. Raka held his breath.

“If light can blind when too bright, then sound can deafen when too loud. And if your main sense is hearing… I’ll rip it apart.”

"If I miss, I die. If I hesitate, I die. There’s no second strike.

Without hesitation, Raka thrust several metal tubes into the sulfur steam vents nearby. A series of piercing flute-like whistles echoed through the chamber—disorienting the monster from multiple directions.

Slowly, Raka crawled toward the body of the fallen Jawak Pedang. Beside it, he grabbed a broken sword—flat and dull on one side—and a sharp-tipped keris from the warrior’s waist.

But the moment he moved, the creature sniffed the sound… and charged.

CRASSSH!

Its claw tore through the air, smashing into the cave wall and shattering an ancient carving. Raka rolled low and leapt to the right, narrowly evading its grasp. His footsteps echoed—just as he intended.

“You hear everything… but sound can flood your senses, so you can't tell what's real anymore…”

He leapt into a narrow crack in the wall, searching. There—two materials: a slab of old steel and the sharp, crystalline tip of an ancient Éra stone embedded in the rock. He struck them together

SCREEEEEEEEECH!

The noise was piercing. Agonizing. Like a knife scraping against glass. The cave's narrow walls amplified the sound, bouncing it back again and again.

The monster roared, its body convulsing. Its petal-like ears flared wide, twitching violently, forced to endure the shrill scream that sliced through its nerves.

In Raka’s mind: "Sound between 130–150 dB causes physical pain. Above 185 dB can rupture internal organs if close enough. But the screech of glass and metal? It’s packed with high-frequency waves over 8,000 Hz—causing panic and neural disorientation, especially for creatures with hyper-auditory systems."

The beast thrashed wildly, its attacks losing precision. It was panicking. The aura from its artifact flared violently, as if trying to shield itself from the pressure.

It stumbled again, swaying. Its ears remained open, desperate to locate its prey.

Then—it turned. A pulse of oppressive aura burst forth like a shockwave.

Raka’s head pounded. The world tilted. That artifact… its presence pierced straight into his fear centers.

He dropped to one knee. Trembling.

“No… not now…”

With desperate resolve, he bit into his own tongue. The taste of blood flooded his mouth. The pain was excruciating—but it snapped him out of the trance.

Raka rose. Bloody, shaking. But he had to move. Fast.

The monster froze only while its hearing was disrupted. Raka knew… this was his only chance.

He charged.

He stabbed the broken sword straight into one of the monster’s ears. Then—before it could react—he scraped the keris blade hard against the sword’s metal.

The result: a focused, direct screech. Éra against steel. A sonic spear launched straight into the monster’s auditory canal.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

The beast convulsed. Its artifact flared—erratic and unstable.

Raka leapt onto its back, driving the keris into its head again and again, clawing at the glowing red artifact. Occasionally, he scraped the blades again, sending out more shrill pulses.

The creature writhed, hissed, gushed blood.

"If sound resonance can shatter crystal glass… then in a closed space, high-frequency pressure can rupture the brain’s soft tissue from within."

CRACK!

The creature’s head exploded in a burst of thick black blood—gushing from its eyes, nose, ears, and even the mangled slit of its mouth. Its petal-shaped ears tore apart and fell like scorched leaves. Raka yanked the artifact free with brute force. It still glowed… but the oppressive aura had dimmed.

Silence.

The creature collapsed. Motionless. No more pressure. No more shrieking.

Only Raka’s breath remained—heavy, ragged—blending with the steam from his burns.

He collapsed to his knees. Shivering. His tongue bled. His hands were scorched. But he was still alive.

And through clenched teeth, he muttered bitterly,

“That… was called a Stick-Slip Sound Trap… bastard.”

He had chosen to kill—before he could be killed.

Six went in. Three came out.

Raka and Laras trudged forward, dragging the bloodied body of the fallen jawak pedang through the empty, echoing corridor of Candramaya.

At the mouth of the cave, raindrops greeted them. A heavy, gray sky loomed low overhead. Mud swallowed their footprints, and the metallic scent of blood clung to their clothes.

Their breaths were ragged. Their eyes wild, desperately searching for hope—like survivors returning from the jaws of death.

Only two remained conscious.

Laras was battered and bruised—her skin marked with burns and welts. The third body, crushed and barely breathing, was slung over Raka’s back.

This was no victory.

They had simply survived the cave of horrors.

The rain wept softly as they took their first steps outside, as if trying to wash away the traces of what had transpired within.

Without a word, Raka passed through the checkpoint gate. The guards turned, startled. Other adventurers—lelanas—gathered quickly, murmuring in shock.

“Wait… aren’t they from the Sagara Bhuana Party? Weren’t they sent in for a Level Two extermination mission? Why are there only two of them left?”

A thickly dressed adventurer gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“That cave is cursed… Even the last expedition never came back,” another guard muttered grimly.

In the middle of the gathering, Raka gently laid the wounded jawak pedang on a makeshift stretcher and silently took a seat in the corner.

That night was filled with noise—the downpour of rain and the uproar inside the Main Pangrengan Hall in Dwara Kendaga City.

The place where adventurers reported their missions.

Laras stood before the mission desk, her eyes bloodshot, hands trembling as she held the written report.

“I told you—this wasn’t our fault! We were ambushed by an anomalous Jakulangkung! It was immune to ajian and shrugged off every standard hunting tactic!”

She shouted, voice shaking with emotion.

Across the desk, an officer in a silver uniform from the Mission Record Guild raised a brow.

“Laras… you’re still a trainee mantrawan. And your report sounds ridiculous. You’re saying the monster was immune to spells?”

His eyes narrowed, barely concealing his amusement.

“There was something strange about it—its body was massive, unnaturally shaped, with heightened hearing… There was even a talisman artifact embedded in its head and—”

“—and you survived because that kid killed it? Please,” the officer scoffed, cutting her off. “He doesn’t even have enough Èra to cast a basic incantation.”

“You mean the one who failed the entrance trial at Dwiwana Academy?”

Laras went silent. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“If it wasn’t for him… we’d all be dead,” she whispered. So soft, it was almost lost beneath the murmurs.

The officer merely sighed and signed the report.

“Let’s chalk it up to trauma. It happens. Rookies often hallucinate after losing teammates.”

He turned toward the corner of the room.

“And you, Raka? Anything to add?”

All eyes shifted.

Raka leaned against the wall, expression unreadable.

“…No.”

His answer was curt.

A brief silence fell—then a low chuckle echoed from the back of the hall.

“Hahaha… This brat doesn’t even know how to file a proper report, let alone earn a guild badge. Blank-faced and trying to act like a genius. Now he’s claiming he took down a Jakulangkung by himself?”

A veteran adventurer scoffed, arms crossed, lounging on a bench.

“What a joke. A clueless rookie playing hero. Maybe the monster just slipped and hit its head on a rock,” sneered another, laughter following.

Laras clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

But Raka only bowed his head slightly. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the hall.

The rain outside poured harder now. Oil lanterns flickered dimly along the cobbled streets of Dwara Kendaga.

“Funny… Even after saving them, I’m treated like a ghost.

Maybe that’s just my fate—back in the Origin World… and now, in Maheswara.”

He walked slowly, his footsteps rippling through the puddles.

But none of that mattered. He didn’t need praise.

He only needed one thing—truth.

And the answer to a single question:

Why was I brought to this world?