It had been two months since Mahishmati's triumph over the Kalakeya horde.
While the battlefield had grown silent, the rumors of power echoed louder than ever.
In Kunthala, the nobles grew wary, while the commoners still reveled in the thought of peace.
But Virendra saw beyond the celebrations—he saw the storm building on the horizon.
---
In the royal court, King Jayvarma sat on his throne, surrounded by his advisors and nobles.
The air was tense, thick with the weight of uncertainty.
The Minister of Defense, a grizzled man with greying hair, spoke with a grave tone.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice rough with concern,
"We have received word that Mahishmati is raising its forces further."
The nobles exchanged glances, their eyes clouded with worry.
"For what purpose?" Jayvarma asked, his brows furrowed.
The minister paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"Officially, they say it is to fortify their borders… but we know better."
His eyes narrowed.
"They will not stop at the Kalakeyas."
Another noble, a lean man with hawkish features, scoffed.
"They wouldn't dare attack us," he said confidently, waving his hand.
"We supported them during the war—even if we didn't send reinforcements, we didn't oppose them either."
But Virendra, standing beside Jayvarma, shook his head slowly.
"That is the mistake you make, Lord Raghav," he said calmly but firmly.
"Mahishmati does not need a reason. They only need an opportunity."
The room fell silent.
---
Later that evening, Virendra and Rudrayani sat in the royal gardens, the moon casting a gentle glow over the roses and jasmine.
The fragrance of the night-blooming flowers lingered in the air, but the conversation was far from sweet.
Rudrayani, dressed in a simple silk sari, sat on the stone bench, her hands gently caressing her swollen belly.
Her eyes, however, were shadowed with worry.
"I have heard the nobles speaking," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They fear Mahishmati will turn its eyes toward us."
Virendra, who stood by the garden railing, turned to her slowly.
His expression was calm, but his eyes were cold and calculating.
"They should be afraid," he replied flatly.
"And so should we."
Rudrayani's eyes flickered with alarm, and she gripped his hand.
"You think they will attack?"
Virendra sat beside her, his voice steady but grim.
"Not immediately," he said softly, stroking her hand reassuringly.
"But… it will come."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"It may not be today. Or tomorrow. But eventually… they will want more."
She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze to her belly, her hand gently caressing the unborn life within her.
"And what of our child?" she asked softly, her voice filled with motherly concern.
"Will they grow up in a time of war?"
Virendra's eyes softened slightly.
He gently placed his hand over hers, his fingers warm and reassuring.
"No," he said softly but firmly, his voice filled with conviction.
"I will not let that happen."
---
The next day, Virendra sat in his private chamber, poring over military reports and maps.
The candlelight flickered over the parchment, illuminating the faint lines of worry on his face.
A knock echoed at the door.
"Enter," he called out, his voice steady.
The door opened, and to his mild surprise, it was Rudrayani's father, Darshan, the merchant of arms, accompanied by two fellow merchants.
They bowed respectfully.
"Prince Virendra," Darshan greeted, his voice firm but courteous.
"We come with a proposal."
Virendra gestured toward the chairs, his expression calm but curious.
"Sit. Speak."
The merchants took their seats, and Darshan laid out a scroll on the table.
It was a blueprint—detailed, intricate.
"We have been experimenting," Darshan began slowly,
"on refining the design of your cannons."
Virendra's brows lifted slightly, and he leaned forward.
"Go on."
Darshan pointed to the blueprint, his fingers tracing the modifications.
"We propose a smaller, more mobile version. Lighter, but still powerful."
He glanced at Virendra.
"It would allow our forces to deploy them more swiftly and with greater accuracy."
Virendra's eyes narrowed slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He was impressed.
"And how many can you produce?" he asked.
The merchants exchanged glances.
"Given the materials and manpower… we could make fifty within six months."
Virendra nodded slowly, his mind already calculating.
Fifty would be enough for a small but effective force—a deterrent.
Something that would make Mahishmati reconsider if they ever thought of advancing.
"Very well," he said finally, his tone firm.
"Begin production immediately. You will have the treasury's support."
The merchants bowed.
"You honor us, Prince Virendra."
---
That evening, Virendra met with Jayvarma in the war chamber.
The room was dimly lit, with only the faint glow of torches casting long shadows on the stone walls.
The maps of the surrounding regions were spread across the table.
Jayvarma, his fingers drumming lightly against the table's edge, stared at the map of Mahishmati.
"They are too strong, Virendra," he said softly, his voice laced with doubt.
"Even with cannons, even with iron production… we cannot stand against them."
Virendra, standing with his arms crossed, shook his head slowly.
"We're not trying to defeat them, brother," he said calmly.
"We're trying to make them think twice."
Jayvarma's gaze lifted, confusion flickering across his face.
"What do you mean?"
Virendra's expression hardened, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"We will not fight them head-on. We will make it too costly for them to even consider it."
He stepped toward the table, tracing his fingers along Kunthala's borders.
"With cannons, with gunpowder, with strategy… we will make them bleed for every step they take."
Jayvarma studied his brother's face, and slowly, a small smile curved his lips.
For the first time in weeks, he felt a sliver of hope.
"Then let us prepare," he said softly, but with determination.
"For whatever comes next."
---
It had been four months since Mahishmati's victory over the Kalakeyas, and the tension in the region had grown thicker with each passing day.
Though Mahishmati's forces had been reduced to 15,000 by the end of the battle, their kingdom had wasted no time in recruiting and rebuilding.
Within a few short months, they had restored their strength to 25,000 soldiers.
But Kunthala had not remained idle.
Under Virendra's leadership, the army grew by 5,000 new recruits, bringing their total forces to 15,000 strong.
For the first time in generations, Kunthala stood as an equal to any neighboring kingdom.
The iron mines, the gunpowder stockpiles, and the cannons were now part of their arsenal.
And though they could not match Mahishmati in numbers, they surpassed them in firepower.
---
The plains outside Kunthala's capital were alive with activity.
The once quiet fields had been transformed into a training ground, bustling with soldiers in formation.
The clang of swords, the thunder of hooves, and the roar of cannon fire echoed across the valley.
The air smelled of smoke and iron as recruits fired bombs from slings and practiced coordinated musket volleys.
At the center of the field, Virendra stood, his armor glinting under the noonday sun.
He watched the drills with a keen eye, his hands clasped behind his back.
Beside him, Commander Dharmaraj, the general of Kunthala's forces, surveyed the scene.
"They are improving quickly," Dharmaraj noted, his voice tinged with pride.
"These recruits have potential."
Virendra's gaze remained steady, but his expression was grim.
"Potential isn't enough, Dharmaraj," he said quietly.
"They must be ready."
Dharmaraj nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind the words.
The shadow of Mahishmati loomed large, and Kunthala could not afford to falter.
---
That evening, King Jayvarma summoned the nobles and generals to the royal court.
The hall was filled with the low murmur of voices, the nobles exchanging concerned glances.
As Virendra entered, the room fell silent.
All eyes turned to him—the true architect of Kunthala's strength.
Jayvarma sat on the throne, his expression calm but resolute.
He gestured for Virendra to speak.
The prince stepped forward, his voice clear and commanding.
"Our forces now number 15,000," he announced,
"and our arsenal is greater than ever."
The nobles murmured in approval, but Virendra raised a hand, silencing them.
"But make no mistake," he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly,
"this is not a call for war. It is a shield against it."
The hall fell still, the weight of his words sinking in.
---
Far to the north, in Mahishmati, the royal court was abuzz with activity.
The ministers and generals gathered in the massive stone hall, their voices low and tense.
The news from Kunthala had reached them—the once smaller kingdom had swollen its ranks.
Seated on the throne, Queen Sivagami Devi listened in calm silence, her sharp gaze moving from one minister to the next.
Beside her, Bhallaladeva, now the Commander of the Armed Forces, stood in his ornate armor, his face dark with displeasure.
The scars from the Kalakeya battle were still faintly visible on his cheek.
One of the commanders, an older man with a weathered face, spoke with urgency.
"My Queen," he began, his voice firm,
"Kunthala's forces have grown. If we wait, they will only grow stronger."
Bhallaladeva's hands curled into fists, his knuckles whitening.
His eyes narrowed, gleaming with cold, ruthless ambition.
"They dare challenge us?" he growled, his voice low and menacing.
"We should crush them before they rise any further."
The ministers murmured in agreement, but Sivagami remained silent, her face impassive.
Bhallaladeva turned to her, his voice hardened with impatience.
"Mother, they are growing bolder. It would be foolish to wait."
But Sivagami's eyes remained unmoved—cold and calculating.
She stared at her son for a long moment, then spoke softly but firmly.
"No, Bhallaladeva."
Her voice was sharp, unyielding, leaving no room for debate.
"To strike them now would be a mistake."
The court fell silent, startled by her stern tone.
"And why is that?" Bhallaladeva asked, his voice low with frustration.
Sivagami's gaze sharpened, her eyes piercing.
"Because they are prepared."
Her words were calm, but her eyes were hard.
"And they will make us bleed for every step."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet but deadly.
"We do not fight battles we cannot win."
The hall was silent, the only sound was the faint crackle of torches.
Bhallaladeva's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides.
His eyes burned with unyielding rage, but he said nothing.
He knew better than to challenge her judgment.
---
Meanwhile, in Kunthala, the nobles and commoners alike felt the tension.
The sight of soldiers training in the fields was no longer uncommon.
The merchants whispered of a coming storm, while the blacksmiths worked overtime, forging weapons and armor.
But even as the kingdom braced for war, there was an odd stability in the air.
Neither side was willing to provoke the other—for now.
The balance of power had shifted just enough that even Mahishmati hesitated.
For the first time in decades, they felt the sting of caution.
---
At the royal palace, Virendra sat with Jayvarma, Kumar Varma, Devsena, and Rudrayani in the private dining hall.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns.
They ate in quiet companionship, the family bond strong despite the looming uncertainty.
Kumar Varma, ever the boastful one, lifted his goblet of wine, his voice jovial and carefree.
"Another victory, eh?" he grinned, his eyes bright with bravado.
"I bet Mahishmati is quaking in their boots."
Devsena rolled her eyes, but smiled faintly.
"They are twice our size, Kumar."
She gave him a playful glance.
"Try not to celebrate too soon."
Jayvarma chuckled softly, but his gaze turned to Virendra, his voice calm but serious.
"Do you think they will move against us?" he asked quietly.
Virendra's gaze darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm.
"No. Not yet."
He lifted his goblet, his eyes sharp with resolve.
"But when they do… we will be ready."
---