(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...

[WARNING!!!]

Guys From Here... We are entering the battle arc... While after few Chapter we are entering the next volume.

Where it might be fully dedicated to war....

Hope you guys leave behind a review.

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The clash outside the Mahamantri’s tent did not remain confined to that corner of the royal encampment for long.

The deafening sound of clashing steel, combined with the frantic cries of soldiers, quickly spread throughout Malikavana Village.

Every guard stationed within the camp instinctively reached for his weapon, but confusion gripped them all.

No one understood why royal soldiers were fighting one another.

Inside Queen Devaki’s tent, however, the atmosphere remained just as tense.

Princess Indhumati’s condition continued to deteriorate.

The dark veins had spread further up her arm, inching toward her shoulder with every passing moment.

Fortunately, the royal physician finally arrived, accompanied by several assistants carrying wooden chests filled with herbs, medicines, and ritual instruments.

The elderly physician immediately knelt beside the unconscious princess and began examining her.

He checked her pulse.

He observed her breathing.

Then his expression gradually became grave.

Without uttering a word, he carefully rolled back her sleeve, exposing the black veins creeping beneath her skin.

His weathered hands trembled.

"This..."

He swallowed hard.

-Gulp!

"This is beyond the scope of medicine."

Everyone inside the tent looked at him.

The physician slowly rose to his feet before respectfully bowing toward King Padmanabha Varma.

"Your Majesty..."

"What Sir Deva has spoken is true."

"This is not an illness."

"It is not poison."

"It is the work of forbidden Tantra."

"I possess neither the knowledge nor the means to dispel such a curse."

Those words struck the King harder than any weapon ever could.

The last sliver of hope that Devara had somehow misunderstood the situation vanished.

Before anyone could speak further...

The entrance flap of the tent was suddenly thrown open.

A royal guard stumbled inside, breathing heavily.

His armor was stained with fresh blood.

"Your Majesty!"

He immediately dropped to one knee.

"The guards sent to summon Mahamantri Vikrama Varma have been attacked!"

Every person inside the tent stiffened.

The guard continued hurriedly.

"The Mahamantri’s personal soldiers refused the royal summons."

"When Captain Rudrasena attempted to enter the tent under Your Highness’s orders..."

"They drew their weapons."

"A battle has broken out outside the Mahamantri’s camp."

The silence that followed was terrifying.

King Padmanabha Varma lowered his head.

His eyes slowly closed.

"...."

For the longest time...

He had refused to believe Devara’s accusation.

He had trusted his younger brother without question.

He had believed Vikrama Varma incapable of betraying not only the kingdom but also his own family.

Yet reality had answered him with ruthless clarity.

Not only had his brother ignored the King’s direct summons...

His personal guards had actually raised their swords against the King’s own soldiers.

Inside the royal encampment.

Within sight of the royal standard itself.

It was no longer an act of defiance.

It was open rebellion.

The King’s hands slowly clenched into fists.

His knuckles turned white as every memory of the trust he had placed in his younger brother flashed before his eyes.

"So..."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"This is what you have been hiding from me..."

A deep breath escaped his lips.

"I treated you as my own blood."

"I entrusted you with my kingdom."

"I placed my faith in you without hesitation."

"And all this time... you were preparing to plunge this kingdom into chaos."

When he finally raised his head, there was no hesitation left in his eyes.

Only anger.

Cold.

Unyielding.

Queen Devaki’s face was equally filled with fury.

She looked toward the entrance of the tent, her eyes glistening with tears born not of sorrow, but of betrayal.

"That monster..."

"He dared lay his hands on my daughter."

The Crown Prince’s expression had also turned ice cold.

"...."

The respect he once held for the uncle who had taught him statecraft and swordsmanship crumbled in an instant.

Without another word, both father and son reached for their swords.

King Padmanabha Varma looked toward Devara.

"Protect my Queen and my daughter."

Then he turned toward the assembled guards.

"With me."

The King strode out of the tent, the Crown Prince following only half a step behind.

The moment they emerged into the night...

Both of them stopped.

The entire royal encampment had descended into chaos.

Torches burned wildly beneath the dark sky.

Steel clashed against steel from every direction.

Royal guards wearing the same insignia were locked in fierce combat with one another.

Some shouted that they were defending the King.

Others claimed they were obeying the Mahamantri’s orders.

In the confusion, no one could immediately distinguish friend from foe.

Men who had shared meals together only hours earlier were now crossing blades in a desperate struggle for survival.

The lines of loyalty had blurred.

Every command was met with suspicion.

Every unfamiliar face became a potential enemy.

King Padmanabha Varma slowly surveyed the battlefield unfolding within his own camp.

His jaw tightened.

"...."

His eyes burned with restrained fury.

Vikrama Varma had planned this well.

He had not merely plotted against the royal family.

He had quietly filled the camp with men loyal to himself, embedding them among the King’s own soldiers until the moment they were needed.

Now, with the conspiracy exposed before its appointed time, those hidden loyalties had erupted into open conflict.

The royal encampment at outside Malikavana Village had become a battlefield before the festival had even reached its conclusion.

Inside Queen Devaki’s tent, the atmosphere had become increasingly grim.

While the sounds of steel clashing echoed throughout the royal encampment, Devara paid no attention to the battle raging outside.

His entire focus remained on the unconscious Princess Indhumati resting in his arms.

Her condition had worsened.

Each breath was shallower than the last.

Her chest rose only slightly before falling again, as though an invisible hand was tightening around her throat with every passing second.

The black veins beneath her skin had spread further, their dark glow pulsing in rhythm with the sinister force invading her body.

Devara’s brows furrowed.

’This is bad... The Tantra isn’t weakening. It’s continuously feeding itself.’

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he silently offered a prayer.

’Mother Ganga... Your son needs your help, grant me the strength to cleanse this innocent young lady of the impurity that has invaded her body.’

As the prayer ended, Devara gently placed his palm upon Indhumati’s forehead.

The moment his hand made contact...

A brilliant white radiance blossomed from his palm.

Unlike the fierce brilliance of lightning or fire, this light was serene.

Pure.

Gentle.

It carried the tranquil aura of flowing sacred waters.

The white glow slowly spread across the Princess’s body.

Wherever it passed, the raging black veins began to calm.

The violent pulsations subsided.

The oppressive aura surrounding her weakened noticeably.

Even Indhumati’s breathing became steadier.

Queen Devaki, who had been watching anxiously, felt a flicker of hope ignite within her heart.

"The veins..."

"They’re receding..."

The royal physician stared at the sight in complete disbelief.

"I... I’ve never witnessed such divine purification..."

However...

Devara’s expression did not improve.

"...."

Instead, it grew even more serious.

A few moments later...

Thin strands of black energy once again began creeping outward from the tiny wound on the Princess’s wrist.

The darkness that had just been suppressed slowly returned.

Devara withdrew his glowing hand.

"The purification is only temporary."

Everyone looked at him.

"The curse itself hasn’t been broken."

His gaze settled on the small scratch left by Vikrama Varma’s ring.

"The wound has become the gateway."

"The Tantra continues to seep into her body through it."

"As long as that connection remains intact..."

"It will continue to corrupt her no matter how many times I cleanse it."

The Queen’s face paled.

"Then... how do we save her?"

Before Devara could answer...

BOOM!!

A deafening explosion shook the entire tent.

The heavy canvas walls were ripped apart as several armed men slashed their way inside from multiple directions.

The lanterns hanging from the wooden poles swung violently.

Dust and torn cloth filled the air.

The intruders wore the armor of the royal army.

Yet the murderous intent in their eyes left no doubt whose orders they truly followed.

"There she is!"

"Kill them all!"

"Don’t let the Princess survive!"

Without hesitation, the assassins charged.

At that exact moment, King Padmanabha Varma and the Crown Prince, who had only just stepped outside the tent, heard the explosion.

Their expressions changed instantly.

"They’re inside!"

Both father and son abandoned the battle outside and rushed back toward the tent.

Before the assassins could reach Devara...

A figure darted forward like a striking serpent.

It was Shakuni.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, a concealed knife slid into his hand from the hidden sheath strapped beneath his sleeve.

The nearest attacker barely had time to widen his eyes.

Slash!

The blade sliced cleanly across his throat.

Blood sprayed through the air as the man collapsed without uttering another sound.

Shakuni caught the falling soldier before he hit the ground, snatching the dead man’s sword in the same fluid motion.

"So..."

He muttered, twirling the blade once before settling into a fighting stance.

"You’ve finally shown your true colors."

The remaining attackers rushed him together.

Steel collided with steel.

Shakuni stepped into the fray without the slightest hesitation.

At the same time, Queen Devaki refused to remain behind.

She was no helpless queen who relied solely upon others for protection.

Long before she had become the Queen of the kingdom, she had been trained in the arts of warfare befitting a royal princess.

Drawing the sword resting beside her seat, she moved to defend her daughter.

One assailant lunged toward her.

The Queen sidestepped gracefully.

Her blade flashed beneath the lantern light.

The attacker cried out as his weapon was knocked aside before her return stroke cut across his chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

Just then, King Padmanabha Varma and the Crown Prince burst back into the ruined tent.

The sight that greeted them ignited the fury already burning within their hearts.

Enemy soldiers...

Inside the Queen’s tent.

Attempting to murder the royal family in the midst of the royal encampment.

The last remnants of doubt vanished from the King’s heart.

This was no longer a conspiracy hidden in the shadows.

It was an outright coup.

Raising his sword high, King Padmanabha Varma let out a thunderous roar that echoed across the battlefield.

"Traitors!"

"Not one of them leaves this tent alive!"

The battle inside the torn royal tent descended into complete chaos.

Steel clashed relentlessly as the King, the Crown Prince, Queen Devaki, and Shakuni fought side by side against the traitorous guards.

One after another, the assassins fell.

Yet amidst the confusion, a handful of them seized the opportunity.

Rather than continuing the fight, they slipped past the King and the others, ignoring every attack directed at them.

Their objective had never been victory.

It had always been the Princess.

"Kill her!"

"Complete the ritual!"

With fanatical determination burning in their eyes, the remaining assassins charged straight toward Princess Indhumati.

At the center of the tent, Devara remained seated, still supporting the unconscious princess in his arms.

His attention was fixed entirely upon suppressing the cursed energy invading her body.

He did not move.

He did not even lift his head.

Seeing the assassins break through their defenses, King Padmanabha Varma felt his heart skip a beat.

"Indhumati!"

The Crown Prince’s face lost all color.

"No!"

Queen Devaki desperately tried to force her way through the enemies blocking her path, but two traitorous guards intercepted her, preventing her from reaching her daughter.

For the first time since the battle had begun...

Fear appeared in the eyes of the royal family.

They were too far away.

Even if they broke through now...

They would never reach the Princess in time.

Amidst the panic...

A soft chuckle suddenly echoed through the tent.

"Heh..."

It was unmistakably amused.

Everyone instinctively turned.

It was Shakuni.

Even while exchanging blows with two attackers, the corner of his lips had curled into a mocking smile.

The King stared at him in disbelief.

"...."

Was this man insane?

His companion was about to be killed.

The Princess was only a heartbeat away from death.

Yet he was...

Laughing?

For a fleeting moment, confusion replaced panic.

Wasn’t this merchant supposed to be hopeless with weapons?

Hadn’t he spent the journey complaining that he preferred bargaining over fighting?

Then why...

Why did he look so unconcerned?

Why was there not the slightest trace of fear on his face?

Before anyone could question him...

One of the assassins reached Devara first.

With a savage roar, he raised his dagger high above his head before driving it downward, aiming directly for Princess Indhumati’s face.

The blade descended with murderous speed.

The King could only watch helplessly.

"NO!"

Clang!

A sharp metallic sound rang throughout the tent.

The dagger stopped.

Not against armor.

Not against another weapon.

It had been caught...

...by a bare hand.

Silence swallowed the battlefield.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The assassin’s eyes widened in horror.

His dagger had not advanced even the width of a grain of rice.

Blood slowly trickled from between powerful fingers as the razor-sharp blade bit into flesh.

Yet the hand holding it never trembled.

Never loosened.

It remained as immovable as a mountain.

Everyone’s gaze slowly shifted toward the owner of that hand.

Devara.

His head remained lowered.

Long strands of dark hair had fallen over his face, hiding his expression from everyone present.

No one could see his eyes.

No one could tell what he was thinking.

Only his outstretched arm was visible, his bare hand gripping the assassin’s dagger so tightly that the steel itself began to creak beneath the pressure.

A chilling silence settled over the tent.

Even the sounds of battle outside seemed distant.

The assassin instinctively tried to pull his weapon back.

It didn’t move.

He pulled harder.

Still nothing.

It was as though the dagger had become embedded in solid rock.

Shakuni’s smile widened ever so slightly.

"...I was wondering how much longer you intended to sit still,"

He muttered under his breath.

Around them, every person present, whether ally or traitor, found themselves staring at the motionless figure holding the Princess with one arm while effortlessly stopping a killing blow with nothing but his bare hand.

For the first time that night...

Many of them began to question whether the quiet traveler they had dismissed as an ordinary merchant had ever truly been ordinary at all.

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(Author note:)

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

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