Pandawa - Chapter 3(2) - a Bet

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The blazing sun climbed higher, yet the cheers in the royal courtyard did not wane.

Five archers stood tall in the distance, their silhouettes painted against the golden sky.

Every pair of eyes in the Majapahit square watched in breathless anticipation.

“First shooter. Bull’s-eye. Thirty points,” said Ra Tanca, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“First shooter. Ten points,” I replied calmly.

When the man in white released his fingers, letting the arrow fly, I didn’t even flinch.

A servant walked toward the target to confirm the score.

After a moment of examination, he raised his hand twice.

“Ohh, close one,” Ra Tanca chuckled. “You’re lucky, young lady.”

“There are still two rounds left, and four more archers to go,” I said smoothly.

“No need to celebrate your loss so soon, Ra Tanca.”

“Oh, full of confidence, aren’t we?”

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In the end, the man in white scored seventy out of ninety—a near-perfect score.

Just as I predicted, one of my guesses was correct.

Unfortunately, the other went to Ra Tanca.

“A draw,” he said.

“For now,” I answered.

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The next archer stepped forward—bare-chested, adorned with gold ornaments.

“I’m calling it—failure,” said Ra Tanca lazily.

“My answer’s the same.”

Our guesses hit true. Both of his arrows missed their marks completely.

“Next one,” Ra Tanca smirked. “I bet he’ll fail again. Your guess, young lady?”

I sharpened my gaze, studying every flicker of the archer’s breath and posture.

A small smile curved my lips.

“A guess? We’re not playing a guessing game, Ra Tanca. We’re wagering,” I said softly.

“Ten points for his third shot. He won’t miss this time.”

Ra Tanca squinted, watching.

The archer steadied himself, diaphragm rising and falling in measured rhythm.

His hands firmed, and without hesitation, he loosed the arrow.

A runner dashed to inspect the target—then raised both arms.

The crowd erupted into applause and laughter.

“Ten points!” shouted the inspector.

“I’d say you underestimated him,” I said, lips curling faintly.

“Even a poorly trained soldier will fight his hardest not to disgrace his house.”

“You’re a lucky gambler, girl.”

“I don’t gamble on luck,” I replied coldly. “I read the wind, Rakrian.”

“ . . . ”

I turned slightly, smiling faintly over my shoulder.

“Filthy wench,” he muttered.

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I didn’t smile this time. Neither did he.

The wind began to howl from the north.

Dark clouds gathered above the far horizon—storm-breeding clouds from the northern sea of Java.

The sudden gusts made it difficult for the next archers to aim, their arrows swaying off course.

“What a pity,” said Ra Tanca mockingly. “Those two will be too ashamed to return home.”

“At least they fought with courage, Rakrian.”

“But to return empty-handed? How pitiful,” he replied, smirking.

“Just like that last archer. Look at him—staring north like he’s already given up.”

I watched the final archer standing still, one hand resting on his hip as he looked toward the storm.

His face was hidden, but that stance—I had seen it before.

“One of his arrows will hit,” I said with certainty.

“…?” I could sense Ra Tanca’s confusion from the corner of my vision.

“Ten, twenty, or thirty points,” I continued. “But he will hit at least one target.”

My gaze lifted northward—I smiled—then turned to my left.

“Princess Sri Gitarja?”

“Dru?”

“You chose Prince Cakradhara as your favorite to win this contest, didn’t you?”

The princess tilted her head, puzzled by my sudden question.

Then, slowly, a smile touched her lips as her eyes drifted toward the man named Cakradhara.

“I believe Prince Cakradhara will win this tournament,” I said firmly, leaning slightly as I met Ra Tanca’s eyes behind me.

“Ninety points. I’m certain he’ll score ninety.”

Ra Tanca’s expression twisted—half disbelief, half irritation.

“Utter nonsense,” he hissed.

Princess Sri Gitarja looked between us, confused—unaware that I had been wagering all along.

I turned my gaze forward once more, watching the final archer—Prince Cakradhara—raise his bow.

In the blink of an eye, the arrow flew!