(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

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Meanwhile...

Back at Malikavana Village...

After finally escaping the rather unusual encounter with Princess Indhumati and the cobra, Devara leisurely made his way back into the heart of the festival.

The lively atmosphere hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Musicians continued playing cheerful tunes as children ran between the rows of floral sculptures, laughing without a care in the world.

Merchants called out to passing visitors, trying to persuade them to stop by their stalls, while artists proudly stood beside their creations, answering countless questions from curious spectators.

For anyone visiting Mallikavana today...

It was impossible to imagine that only a few miles away, hidden deep within the forests, an entire cult had just declared war against a single man.

Devara quietly smiled to himself.

Sometimes...

Ignorance truly was a blessing.

He continued through the exhibition until he finally spotted a familiar figure standing completely still among the crowd.

Shakuni.

Unlike the others surrounding him, the minister wasn’t talking.

Nor was he moving.

He simply stood there with his hands folded behind his back, staring intently at a floral sculpture.

Curious, Devara walked over.

"What caught your attention?"

Shakuni didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he pointed toward the artwork before them.

It was magnificent.

A full-sized tiger had been recreated entirely from flowers.

Orange marigolds formed its powerful body, while carefully arranged black blossoms created its stripes with astonishing precision.

White jasmine outlined the chest and muzzle, giving the sculpture remarkable depth, while tiny yellow flowers had been used for the eyes, making them appear startlingly alive.

Even the whiskers had been fashioned from long strands of dried grass.

From a distance...

One could almost mistake it for a real tiger quietly observing the crowd.

Devara slowly circled around it, genuinely impressed.

"The craftsmanship is extraordinary."

Shakuni nodded without taking his eyes off the sculpture.

"I’ve been standing here for nearly ten minutes."

"And I still can’t understand how the artist managed this."

He leaned forward slightly, careful not to touch the flowers.

"Look at the balance."

"Every flower has been placed with incredible precision."

"Even the posture feels natural."

Devara smiled.

"You’re admiring it more than the king will."

Shakuni chuckled.

"I just might."

After another moment of silence, he suddenly spoke again.

"I wonder..."

Devara glanced at him.

"I wonder if it could be purchased."

"The sculpture?"

Shakuni nodded earnestly.

"If it can survive the journey."

He carefully examined the framework hidden beneath the flowers.

"If we reinforce it properly..."

"...perhaps it could withstand traveling for several days."

Devara raised an eyebrow.

"You wish to buy it?"

Shakuni smiled faintly.

"It would make a wonderful gift."

"For Gandhari."

Devara couldn’t help laughing softly.

"So that’s what you’ve been thinking about."

Shakuni nodded without embarrassment.

"I’ve known the queen since she was a child."

"She has always admired unusual works of art."

"If I returned with something like this..."

"I’m certain she’d treasure it."

He sighed quietly.

"Although I doubt the artist would be willing to sell it."

"They’ve likely spent months creating it."

Devara looked once more at the floral tiger.

"I’ll ask later."

"If the competition ends and the artist agrees..."

"...perhaps we can arrange something."

Shakuni’s face brightened immediately.

"Really?"

"If possible. I make no promises."

"That alone is enough."

The two resumed walking through the exhibition, occasionally stopping to admire another display before continuing onward.

The deeper they ventured into the festival grounds, the stranger some of the attractions became.

There were puppet performances.

Musical competitions.

Storytellers surrounded by excited children.

Even wandering illusionists demonstrating harmless tricks to entertain visitors.

Eventually...

Both of them slowed to a stop before an unusually quiet tent.

It wasn’t particularly large.

Nor was it decorated more extravagantly than the others.

Yet what immediately caught their attention wasn’t the tent itself.

It was the complete lack of people entering it.

A handful of villagers stood several feet away from the entrance.

None of them seemed interested in going inside.

Instead...

Whenever the man inside enthusiastically waved at them...

They quietly took two more steps backward.

Devara blinked.

Shakuni looked equally confused.

Both of them lifted the cloth covering the entrance slightly and peeked inside.

The moment they did...

They recognized the man immediately.

Sage Veenadhara.

The sage who had nearly been buried alive by the forest tribe.

He had changed into clean robes and had even combed his hair neatly.

A pleasant smile rested on his face.

At least...

He was trying very hard to appear pleasant.

"My dear friends!" the sage called cheerfully toward a passing family.

"Please come in!"

"I have completely changed!"

"I promise today’s questions are simple!"

The family froze.

The father looked toward the sage.

Then toward the sign hanging above the entrance.

Then back at the sage.

"No..."

he replied politely.

"We’re just looking around."

The entire family immediately increased their walking speed.

Veenadhara hurried after them.

"Wait!"

"I’ll even give hints!"

"No riddles that make you cry!"

"I swear upon my honor!"

The family almost started jogging.

"No, thank you!"

"We still value our peace of mind!"

Another group approached.

The sage’s eyes lit up once more.

"You there!"

"Young man!"

"Would you like to participate?"

"I’ve changed!"

"No trick questions!"

The young man looked terrified.

"I’ve heard those exact words before."

"I was younger then."

"I refuse."

Without waiting for another invitation, he disappeared into the crowd.

Inside the tent, Veenadhara let out a defeated sigh.

"I truly have changed..."

he muttered sadly.

"Why does nobody believe me?"

Outside, Devara and Shakuni exchanged silent glances.

Then both slowly looked toward the large wooden board hanging above the entrance.

Written neatly across it were the words:

Grand Quiz Competition!

Answer correctly and win 30 Gold Coins!

Below it, someone had even painted:

Guaranteed Fair Questions!

No Tricks!

No Impossible Riddles!

Thirty gold coins.

For an ordinary villager...

It was a fortune.

Normally, there would have been a long queue stretching halfway across the festival.

Instead...

Not a single participant stood before the entrance.

People weren’t merely avoiding the competition.

They were avoiding the organizer.

Devara watched another curious visitor approach the tent.

The man read the reward.

His eyes widened excitedly.

"Thirty gold coins?"

Then he noticed who was sitting inside.

His smile immediately disappeared.

Without saying a word...

He quietly turned around and walked away.

Devara finally burst into laughter.

Even Shakuni couldn’t hold back anymore.

The usually composed minister covered his mouth as he chuckled.

"I didn’t think a person’s reputation could become this... legendary."

Devara nodded while wiping the corner of one eye.

"It appears Sage Veenadhara has challenged one too many innocent travelers."

"Now even thirty gold coins aren’t enough to tempt anyone."

Inside the tent, the sage happened to look toward the entrance.

His face immediately brightened upon seeing Devara.

"You!"

He pointed excitedly.

"Young Merchant!"

"Come!"

"I know you’ll participate!"

Devara’s smile vanished instantly.

Without exchanging another word...

He and Shakuni turned around together.

Both calmly increased their walking speed.

Behind them, the sage’s disappointed voice echoed through the festival.

"At least hear the rules first!"

"I really have changed this time!"

Neither of them looked back.

Some risks...

Simply weren’t worth thirty gold coins.

Meanwhile, inside the royal command tent erected on the northern side of the festival grounds, the lively sounds of the celebration outside felt strangely distant.

Unlike the colorful streets of Mallikavana, the atmosphere inside the tent was quiet and disciplined.

Large maps of the kingdom had been spread across a polished wooden table, while neatly stacked scrolls occupied almost every available space.

Several officers stood patiently at the sides, waiting for further instructions, as scribes continued recording reports arriving from different parts of the kingdom.

King Padmanabha Varman sat at the head of the table, carefully reading through one scroll after another.

His expression remained calm, but the slight crease between his brows betrayed the concern hidden beneath his composed exterior.

Standing beside him was a man who resembled the king closely enough that anyone could immediately recognize their blood relation.

The only noticeable difference was that the man possessed slightly sharper facial features, a well-trimmed beard, and eyes that constantly observed everything around him with remarkable caution.

He was Mahamantri Vikrama Varman, the younger brother of King Padmanabha Varman.

Although they were nearly the same age, the two brothers had chosen very different paths.

Where Padmanabha Varman was admired as a capable ruler and a respected warrior,

Vikrama Varman had earned his reputation through intelligence, diplomacy, and an uncanny ability to uncover conspiracies long before they became dangerous.

If the king was the kingdom’s sword...

Vikrama Varman was undoubtedly its shield.

Rolling up one of the reports, the king looked toward his brother.

"So..."

"What have our investigators discovered?"

Vikrama Varman picked up another scroll before speaking.

"The thefts continue."

"Three more noble houses reported missing valuables during the past fortnight."

"The strange part is that the thieves aren’t interested in ordinary wealth."

"They ignore silver."

"They ignore furniture."

"They even leave expensive jewelry untouched if it isn’t particularly rare."

He unrolled another document.

"They seem to choose only objects with historical or religious significance."

The king rested his chin upon his hand.

"And no witnesses?"

Vikrama slowly shook his head.

"None."

"No broken doors."

"No signs of forced entry."

"No guards remembering anything unusual."

"It is as though the thieves simply appear inside the mansions..."

"...take what they came for..."

"...and disappear."

The king sighed quietly.

"Our palace guards have searched every marketplace."

"We’ve questioned traveling merchants."

"We’ve even monitored the ports."

"Yet not a single stolen item has resurfaced."

Vikrama nodded.

"That is precisely what concerns me."

He handed another scroll to the king.

"However..."

"There is one detail every report shares."

Padmanabha Varman lowered his eyes toward the parchment.

A small drawing had been carefully sketched beside the written report.

It depicted a single lemon.

Fresh.

Uncut.

Placed neatly upon a table.

The king couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.

"The fruit again."

Vikrama folded his arms.

"Every noble family reported finding one."

"No matter what was stolen..."

"The thieves always leave behind a single lemon."

The king looked thoughtful.

"A signature."

"Most likely."

"But why a lemon?"

Vikrama slowly shook his head.

"We’ve questioned scholars."

"Temple priests."

"Even wandering ascetics."

"No one has been able to explain its meaning."

The king gently tapped the table with one finger.

"So either the lemon carries a message..."

"...or the thief simply enjoys confusing us."

Vikrama smiled faintly.

"I suspect the first."

The meeting continued for nearly another hour.

Reports from border villages.

Crop harvests.

Trade caravans.

Security arrangements for the ongoing festival.

One by one, every matter demanding royal attention was discussed before finally being set aside.

At last, Padmanabha Varman leaned back in his chair.

"That will be all for today."

The officers immediately bowed.

"As you command, Maharaja."

One after another, they quietly departed, leaving only the two brothers inside the tent.

The king looked toward Vikrama.

"Brother."

"Take some rest."

"You’ve barely slept these past few days."

Vikrama smiled politely.

"I’ll rest once these thefts are solved."

Padmanabha chuckled.

"I expected that answer."

After exchanging a few more words, the brothers parted ways.

Vikrama Varman slowly made his way toward his own command tent, located a short distance from the king’s quarters.

Unlike the royal pavilion, his tent was considerably simpler.

Several shelves filled with documents lined one side, while maps, coded messages, and investigation reports covered almost every available table.

A single oil lamp burned quietly near the entrance.

The moment Vikrama stepped inside, his expression changed.

The warm smile he had worn before the king disappeared completely.

His face became unreadable.

He carefully lowered the entrance flap before checking the surroundings through a small opening in the fabric.

Only after making certain no one had followed him did he walk farther inside.

Just then...

A faint fluttering sound echoed from above.

Flap... flap... flap...

An owl descended silently through the opening left at the top of the tent for ventilation.

The bird landed gracefully upon a wooden perch beside his desk, as though it had done so countless times before.

Vikrama looked at it without surprise.

"...."

Instead...

A cold glimmer passed briefly through his eyes.

The owl calmly lifted one leg.

Tied securely beneath it was a small rolled message wrapped in waterproof cloth.

Without speaking a word, Vikrama untied the thread.

He gently removed the tiny scroll before giving the owl a few grains kept in a nearby bowl.

The bird accepted the food quietly, completely at ease.

Vikrama slowly unrolled the message.

As his eyes moved across the first few lines...

The calm expression on his face disappeared.

His gaze gradually became sharper.

More dangerous.

The fingers holding the scroll tightened ever so slightly.

Then...

A faint smile appeared.

Not one of warmth. Nor satisfaction.

It was the smile of someone who had just learned that a carefully laid plan had begun moving exactly as expected.

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(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

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