The story of nameless warrior that roaming Tanah Semenanjung, helping people, mostly those who oppressed by tyranny. He never shared his name, thus people start calling him Nirnama, meaning nameless.
The thunderous voice shook the entire village of Medini. In the village square, the bustling atmosphere of crowds rapt in their affairs came to an abrupt end. The sight of a group of men, led by a man burly in stature, stunned them speechless.
Clad in thick clothing made of crocodile leather, the man's right hand held an enormous cudgel barbed with spikes, rested on his pauldron. His steely glare was cast upon the village folk, who trembled before his presence.
"WHERE IS SANG KANCIL? HIS INSOLENCE WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED!"
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His voice ruptured the tense air yet again, putting to rest any hope of respite. Even the hubbub of the marketplace and levity of the hawker stalls laid still before the brewing tempest.
It was quite unnatural for a man wielding such power to grace the village of his own accord. Usually the henchmen were the ones who descended upon the village every full moon to pick up the monthly tithe obliged upon them.
Irritated by the lack of response, the man huffed in anger. He looked to the group of men with him. Garbed as warlords, they numbered around thirty men. Part of their bodies were covered in armor, the rest blanketed in fine cloth.
"BRING THE BOY BEFORE ME NOW!"
Twenty-five of them spread out, weapons unsheathed, with the remaining five standing guard by the man. The unnerving atmosphere burst into uproar, with villagers, panicking before, now bolting in all directions. Shouts and screams for help filled the air, as they tried escaping their would-be captors.
In the distance, a crowd huddled at a stall, observing the chaos happening before them. Sipping their drinks, they were out of sight just enough, not bothered to leave. Yet a handful of them thought to stay behind, in case things worsened.
"A calamity—that's what Kancil is! No way is Bagak's outrage over mere ridicule," jeered an onlooker to his friend beside him.
"Boy loves his tricks, eh? Never content unless people were riled up... Hasn't he been loitering round Bagak's palace borders lately? Must've offended him somehow, methinks."
"I'm telling you: sooner or later he'll court death to our village—you mark my words!"
The two men were shaking their heads when someone among the group approached them.
"That's it—I'm closing up shop. Please excuse yourselves from here—no, don't pay now!—just don't want my business to get caught up in this mess!" the shopkeeper bemoaned as he fussed over the planks that sectioned off the interior part of his stall.
They rose from their seats, only to find themselves the only two left, other than a man sitting nearby.
"Let's make our way then."
"Yes, let's—huh?"
One of them noticed the man not budging from his seat.
"Not skedaddling, friend?" one of them asked, looking at the elegant tanjak he wore and his well-groomed appearance. The bag of clothes next to him clued them in: the man was a wayfarer.
