Sengkala is now between 26 and 30 years old, a dynamic period in his life that has transformed him into a skilled blacksmith. His hands have been involved in forging hundreds of weapons to bring glory to the great name of Majapahit. His body is now muscular and toned, covered with small scars from the sparks and hot iron he encounters every day. Meanwhile, his face looks increasingly stern, with lines of experience etched into it from his years of service. At his waist hangs a historic keris named *Giris Pawaka*—his first keris, now full of memories and stories. However, despite his extraordinary skill in blacksmithing and forging, the world of Majapahit was no longer the same as it once was; many great challenges lurked behind the splendor of the kingdom. A terrifying plague or pandemic was slowly ravaging the common people, while civil wars often broke out sporadically in various parts of the region. Two brothers, Wikramawardhana and Bhre Hyang Purwawisesa, had begun an open struggle for the throne after the deaths of two great figures, Hayam Wuruk and Gajah Mada. The Trowulan Palace still stood majestic and elegant, but an aura of cracks and division began to fill the air, bringing an unpleasant premonition that was difficult to ignore.
On a morning like any other, the Sengkala workshop, which he now ran himself after Mpu Wira decided to semi-retire, was filled with the hustle and bustle of his six students. The fire in the furnace glowed red, while the echoing sound of hammers filled the room like the rhythm of war drums, loud and intense. Sengkala watched a student named Lurah, now an adult, forging spears for the army of Bhre Hyang Purwawisesa—the rebels who claimed legitimacy through their maternal lineage. "Lurah, your work is uneven! That spear is for the battlefield, not a ceremonial decoration!" Sengkala reprimanded him in a firm but controlled voice. Without hesitation, he took the hammer from Lurah's hand, struck the blade once—*TANG!*—and instantly the surface of the blade became perfectly flat.
The village chief wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I'm sorry, sir. The order from Purwawisesa came suddenly. They said their army needs 50 spears tomorrow," said the village chief regretfully. Sengkala then sighed deeply and calmly put down his hammer. "I understand the situation. However, keep in mind that every blade that leaves this workshop carries our good name. If one breaks in the hands of a soldier fighting for our families, what will you say then?"
In another corner, a young apprentice named Ki Jaka—the younger brother of his friend Jaka—felt the need to comment. "Bro Sengkala, why did we accept orders from the rebels? The Wikramawardhana side also came to place an order yesterday." Hearing this question, Sengkala looked at his students, who looked enthusiastic but also full of questions, with the fire from the furnace reflecting in his eyes. "Because, if we reject one side, the other side will suspect that we are siding with the enemy. Remember, we are masters, not soldiers. But..." Sengkala added in a softer voice, "I have sent secret messengers to both sides. Asking them to promise that our weapons will not be used against their own brothers."
Lurah was stunned by this answer. "How dare you, Sir. What if they find out?" he asked curiously. "Then we will close this workshop and flee to the interior," replied Sengkala half-jokingly but with a serious look in his eyes.
Shortly after the conversation, Dewi Laras arrived carrying a pot of genjong vegetables and salted fish, while Mpu Wira followed behind her using a wooden stick because his knees were starting to hurt due to old age. "Never mind, let's talk about work later. Now it's time to eat. Twenty lives have already been taken by the plague in the neighboring village," said Dewi Laras, inviting everyone to gather for a meal on the mat. While eating, Mpu Wira suddenly asked, "What about the invitation from the palace that arrived yesterday, Son?"
Casually, Sengkala swallowed the rice that had just been spooned into his mouth. "Prince Wikramawardhana offered to make this workshop the official workshop of the palace. He said the salary would be great, and his students would be from the nobility. But here's the thing, he also said, 'Help me win, and you will be safe forever,'" replied Sengkala, recounting the contents of the invitation he had received.
Hearing this, Dewi Laras immediately turned pale. "Don't accept it, Son. It's a trap. They are competing for the throne like hungry dogs fighting over a bone," said Dewi Laras with a worried tone. "I have politely declined," replied Sengkala. "I said that this workshop is too busy. However, Purwawisesa was no less cunning. Last night, they sent a subtle threat: 'If the weapons don't arrive on time, your family will be in danger.'"
Mpu Wira seemed to grip his staff more tightly. "This is no longer a normal order. They are forcing us to choose which side we will support," he muttered anxiously.
Sengkala then stood up, looking at his students one by one. "That's why tonight I intend to meet Jaka at the night market. He has a route that leads to the coast—maybe there's a way out of this problem."
As night fell, the Trowulan night market remained crowded even though the atmosphere around it felt tense. Lanterns hung overhead, vendors shouted out their offerings of ketupat lepet and wedang ronde, but there were more soldiers patrolling than usual, their eyes full of vigilance. In a dark corner near a betel nut stall, Sengkala finally met Jaka. "La! How dare you come alone," greeted Jaka, his face looking haggard and his body thin due to the plague that had struck. "I've heard that your workshop is now being watched by two factions, is that true?"
"That is indeed the case," replied Sengkala softly. "They threatened my family. Have you heard the latest news about the coast?"
Jaka leaned closer. "Demak and Tuban are growing stronger. The new sultan there refuses to pay tribute and claims that Majapahit has been weakened by prolonged civil war. They are offering protection to the dukes who remain neutral—including a master craftsman like you, La."
Sengkala's brow furrowed at this explanation. "Go to the coast and leave this land?" he asked hesitantly.
"Not leave, but survive, La. There is a safe harbor there, and the spice trade is still going strong. But you have to make a choice: send weapons to one of the sides, or flee quietly," explained Jaka.
A soldier suddenly passed by them, and the conversation stopped for a moment. Once the situation was safe again, Sengkala asked, "I don't want to take sides. Is there another way to remain neutral?"
Jaka just shook his head resignedly. "There is no such thing as neutrality, La. Wikramawardhana controls the center of the palace, while Purwawisesa controls the army in the east. They are killing each other. Did you hear about the fierce battle in Paregreg yesterday? Hundreds of soldiers were killed, and spears from your workshop were used by both sides."
Sengkala clenched his fists tightly. "Tomorrow I will sabotage them subtly. I will make blades that are strong but easily blunted when used. At least it will buy my family time to escape if necessary," he said with determination.
Jaka then hugged Sengkala. "Be careful, my brother. If this plan is discovered, you could die first," said Jaka with a tone full of concern.
The next day, when Sengkala was polishing the spear ordered by Purwawisesa, a mysterious guard arrived. The man, wearing a cloth mask and speaking in a hoarse voice, said, "Mpu Sengkala, your prince is waiting in the forest on the outskirts of the city tonight. You must come alone."
Sengkala was suspicious. That night, he arrived with his *Giris Pawaka* at the ready. Under a giant banyan tree, two figures were waiting: they were representatives of Wikramawardhana and Purwawisesa. "You were summoned because you are neutral," said the older brother's representative. "Help us, and you will get gold and land."
"Help my brother, and you will get the title of duke," replied the other.
Sengkala laughed at the offer. "You are willing to kill each other, your own brothers, and then ask a master to help you? I refuse your offer. My weapon is only for defending my homeland, not the throne," he replied firmly.
They then threatened him. "Choose one or you will be destroyed forever."
Sengkala drew his dagger, ready to fight to the death. "Try to take it now if you dare," he said in the face of the threat.
A brief fight ensued: Sengkala managed to wound one of the guards, causing him to flee into the forest. When he returned to the workshop at dawn, his entire family was ready to flee. "Let's go to the interior first, Mom. Until this storm subsides," Sengkala said to his family.
At the age of 30, Sengkala finally took his family away, keeping the secret and the coup plan that would shake his life forever. Although the workshop had to be left behind, the *Giris Pawaka* remained hanging at his waist, a loyal weapon ready to face the dance of betrayal that was about to begin.