The sky, once filled with smoke and screams of war, now echoed only with the chants of the priests and the somber cries of the wounded. The fields outside Kunthala bore the bloodied mark of valor—burnt soil, shattered arms, and fallen warriors. But among the ashes, the standard of Kunthala flew proud and unbroken.
Virendra stood tall upon the central tower of the outer wall, his armor battered and darkened with ash, but his eyes keen, watching the horizon for signs of another assault. The battle had ended in victory, but the silence felt too sudden, too deceptive.
Reports had started to pour in. Kunthala had lost nearly 2,000 brave soldiers in the final push, most during the surprise flanking attack by the last of the desperate Pindari warriors. Yet, the outcome was nothing short of astonishing—over 6,000 Pindaris were killed or captured. Those who fled were scattered and broken, their morale obliterated.
The battlefield had become a graveyard of steel and screams, but also a monument to strategy. Cannons—over a hundred—lined the forward hillocks and bastions. Their roar had not just broken bones but shattered the confidence of any observer.
Observers like Bahubali.
He stood beside Kattappa on a viewing tower, watching soldiers below collect enemy banners and set up pyres for their fallen. He had witnessed war, many times. He had fought battles. But this—this was something else. Not brute force. Not blind courage. It was the art of war itself.
"He doesn't fight like a king," Bahubali finally said, more to himself than to Kattappa. "He fights like the sword of a sleeping god. Ruthless. Measured. Swift."
Kattappa nodded silently. He had seen a thousand men fall under ten different kings, but even he had to admit: Virendra's control over battlefield movements, how he wielded information like a weapon and soldiers like threads in a vast tapestry—it was unparalleled.
Meanwhile, in the royal chamber of Kunthala, the wounded were being treated. Devsena, dressed no longer in silks but in battle armor still streaked with blood, walked slowly among the injured. Her eyes searched for one man.
She found Shivu—or rather Bahubali—seated beside a young archer, helping him bind a gash. She said nothing, only watched.
He looked up, smiled simply, and saluted with the same exaggerated, simple wave he had been using for weeks. Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion anymore, but in grudging amusement.
"You fight like a fool, yet always end up next to glory," she muttered.
Shivu blinked blankly. "I'm lucky. Mama says I'm too slow to know fear."
Kattappa gave a sorrowful sigh from behind. "Aye, too simple to run when danger comes."
She turned away, but her lips twitched. Something in her had changed, though she still would not admit it.
---
Back in Mahishmati, Sivagami Devi stood before the great map of the southern kingdoms, fingers tracing the hills of Kunthala.
"Five thousand Pindaris crushed, and only two thousand lost on Kunthala's side," she said aloud. "And cannons. They have more cannons than we imagined. Someone is helping them."
Behind her, Bijjaladeva sat frowning, his usual mocking sneer replaced with genuine discomfort.
"And Bahubali was there to witness it," he said. "He must have seen it all. This changes everything."
Sivagami turned slowly. "It changes nothing. Kunthala will suffer yet. Every coin spent on this war will weigh them down. They will celebrate tonight—but their blood will dry. Their granaries will empty. They cannot afford to fight again."
"And what of your promise?" Bijjaladeva asked. "To your son?"
Sivagami's gaze sharpened. "That girl—Devsena—will be my daughter-in-law. She may parade as a lioness now, but I have chosen her fate. She may not bend, but I will force the wind around her to break her."
She glanced again at the map. "Virendra... is no fool. He must be watched. We must find his weakness. Every mountain has its crack."
And far away, Virendra stood upon the battlements, a scroll in hand, a messenger at his side, and war still stirring in the winds. The victory was his, but the war had only just begun.
---
The red-gold light of dusk poured into the training grounds of Kunthala's royal palace, casting elongated shadows of sword-wielding warriors and watchful instructors. Bahubali, wiping sweat from his brow, turned to see a royal messenger approaching swiftly. The man was dressed in Mahishmati colors, his brow furrowed with urgency and importance.
He bowed respectfully. "Prince Bahubali, Sivgami Devi has sent a message—sealed with her ring."
Bahubali took the scroll with a hint of surprise. He broke the seal, unfolded it, and his eyes scanned the elegant Devanagari script. The letter was brief and worded in Sivgami's usual tone of sovereign finality.
"Bring her. It is time she becomes my daughter-in-law."
Bahubali's heart thundered—not with anxiety, but joy. There was no mention of Bhallaladeva, no ambiguity from his mother's tone. For him, this meant one thing.
Sivgami had seen what he saw in Devsena. Her strength. Her poise. Her grace. He folded the scroll with reverence, placing it near his chest as if it were a blessing.
Kattappa, who stood nearby sharpening a blade, watched with a raised brow.
"She said yes, didn't she?" the old warrior teased.
"She did," Bahubali replied with a breathless grin. "She finally agreed."
Kattappa frowned slightly. "What exactly did she say?"
"She wants Devsena as her daughter-in-law."
Kattappa's eyes narrowed. "She didn't name you, Bahubali. You're assuming again—"
But the prince was already walking away, confidence swelling within him.
---
Later that Evening
Devsena stood under the arch of the jasmine-laced pavilion overlooking the moonlit garden. The wind carried the scent of night-blooming flowers and the faint notes of flute from the temple musicians. When Bahubali appeared, dressed not in royal garb but simple white robes, her brows arched slightly in amusement and curiosity.
"You look like you're about to give a sermon," she said softly.
He smiled, stepping closer. "Perhaps I am."
She tilted her head. "Then speak, preacher."
Bahubali exhaled slowly. "A message came from my mother—Sivgami Devi. She asked me to bring you with me to Mahishmati."
Devsena's gaze sharpened.
"She said she wants to make you her daughter-in-law." His voice lowered, hopeful. "Devsena… I believe she meant as my wife."
The silence that followed was thick, almost sacred. Devsena did not immediately answer. Her eyes didn't flicker with joy nor surprise. Instead, she studied his face, his sincerity, his confidence. After a long pause, she said:
"I will not answer yet. I want to speak with my brothers first."
Bahubali nodded with complete understanding. "I'll wait."
---
The next morning, Jayvarma, Virendra, and Devsena sat within the heart of the war room, where maps still marked the battlefield from the recent Pindari conflict. The air smelled faintly of parchment, wax, and spiced tea.
Jayvarma leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "From a political lens, it's wise. Mahishmati is strong, we've grown stronger—but a formal alliance will silence all foreign threats for at least a generation."
"And Bahubali," he continued, "is nothing like Bhallaladeva. He fought alongside us. Ate with our men. Taught Devsena archery as an equal, not a superior. That speaks volumes."
Virendra remained quiet for a moment longer, his fingers steepled before him. "I have always been wary of Mahishmati's hunger for expansion," he said. "But… Bahubali does not represent that hunger."
His gaze turned to Devsena. "Do you want this, dear sister?"
Devsena looked at her brothers—one cautious, the other pragmatic. She nodded slowly. "I don't know what lies ahead. But… I trust him."
Virendra gave a small smile. "Then I support this union."
Jayvarma raised his cup. "To new beginnings."
---
Preparations began immediately. Envoys were sent ahead. Rich textiles packed. Gifts chosen. Virendra insisted that their visit to Mahishmati should not be hurried—he wanted time to see the public mood, to rebuild their forces after the Pindari war, and to prepare Devsena with the respect and splendor befitting a Queen in the making.
Virendra also made one crucial decision in silence.
He would accompany them. He would see the fabled capital of Mahishmati with his own eyes, gauge its politics with his instincts, and ensure Devsena walked into that kingdom not alone, not unsure—but with the full might of Kunthala at her back.
---
The vast hall of Kunthala's southern palace buzzed with quiet activity. Royal scribes and court stewards moved like the tide, their feet muffled by woven rugs and their arms burdened with scrolls, documents, and ledgers. At the center of it all stood Virendra, his face as still and sharp as a blade waiting to be drawn.
He wasn't in ceremonial robes or princely garb. His simple armor gleamed from a recent polish, worn not for battle but for symbolism—he was still a soldier, and Kunthala was still at war, even if that war had become political rather than physical.
Jayvarma, seated on the high platform to his left, handled a line of petitioners. Even as the throne room filled with talk of tax reforms, land disputes, and harvest tallies, Virendra's mind remained fixed on one thought: leaving.
Not escaping, not abandoning—but entrusting. It had been a long time since he allowed himself the luxury of stepping away from Kunthala's defense. Now, with Devsena's engagement and the invitation to Mahishmati, he had to prepare for absence—not days, but weeks. Perhaps months.
He could not afford misjudgment.
---
That night, Virendra secluded himself in his private war chamber, accompanied only by two trusted aides and the great map of Kunthala and its surrounding kingdoms—Mahishmati marked in bold crimson, like a heart too large for its body.
Laid beside the map were sheets of fresh ink data. Military ledgers. Post-battle assessments. Recovery reports. Soldier counts. Metallurgy charts.
One candle burned low as he read the final lines aloud:
"Of the 5,000 who engaged the Pindari, 3,600 remain fully combat-ready. The rest are in stages of recovery or reassignment. Morale high. Cannon repair complete: 96 of 100 fully functional."
He leaned back and closed his eyes. His mind, honed by both war and subtle strategy, traced through the key variables: manpower, recovery rate, political climate, food stores, and neighboring hostility levels.
Conclusion:
Kunthala is not weak.
In fact, compared to a year ago, the kingdom was stronger. Not only in arms, but in mind. Pindari attacks had been brutal, yes—but they had exposed vulnerabilities that were now fortified. The unpredictability of guerrilla warfare had shaken them; but a standing army? A traditional siege? Against cannons that rained metal storms and walls now tripled in reinforcement?
Even Mahishmati would think twice.
Virendra allowed himself a slow breath.
They would manage.
---
In the grand courtyard, soldiers drilled with a renewed rhythm. Officers barked in unison, and ballistas were loaded and unloaded on practice dummies—wooden constructs meant to mimic real armored units.
Virendra inspected every unit personally.
He checked the hinges of cannon mouths, the calibration of their rangefinders, and the consistency of the new explosive batches his engineers had begun developing—more smoke, more scatter, more psychological devastation.
When one of his aides asked if it was necessary to go this deep, he merely smiled. "If I'm leaving the lion's den, I make sure the lions I leave behind are fed, trained, and eager."
---
Jayvarma joined him that evening, their chairs overlooking the western ramparts of the palace fort. Below them, the city shimmered with oil lamps and quiet cheer—unusual for a city just out of war.
"I heard you tested every cannon personally," Jayvarma said, sipping from a copper goblet.
"I did."
"You don't trust the numbers?"
"I don't trust peace," Virendra replied, softly. "It lulls even the wisest into comfort."
Jayvarma smiled faintly. "You've earned your caution, brother. But… if you're asking me whether you can go to Mahishmati with a calm mind, I'll say yes."
Virendra met his eyes. "You'll keep the ministers in check?"
"They only bark when you're around," Jayvarma said dryly. "In your absence, they'll bore themselves into silence."
They both chuckled. But there was truth in it. The bureaucracy of Kunthala had been built on formality and fear for generations—under Virendra's reign, fear had been replaced by respect. That was harder to subvert.
---
Three days before departure, Virendra called his top commanders and civilian heads for a final roundtable. It wasn't ceremonial. It wasn't for show. It was command in its rawest form.
"I will be gone for an unspecified time," he announced. "Kunthala must act not as if its prince has left—but as if its citizens have risen."
He divided responsibilities with surgical precision:
Border patrols were intensified in the north and east.
Gunpowder reserves redistributed in secret caches across the inner circle.
Elite units—trained with new shield-piercing pikes—were stationed close to the capital for rapid deployment.
Even the merchant class was roped in. If Mahishmati attempted to flex its economic muscle, Virendra had already arranged grain loans from three southern kingdoms to keep prices stable. Kunthala would not kneel—not in war, not in market.
---
To Include Bahubali or Not?
Alone, on the final night before their planned departure, Virendra sat in the palace garden, watching the stars like old sentinels of fate.
He had considered Bahubali.
The man was strong, kind, honorable—and he had fought like a lion against the Pindaris. But Mahishmati was still Mahishmati. Sivgami was a mystery. And Bhallaladeva remained in the shadows, unspoken but ever-present.
Should he let Bahubali travel beside them? Or was it wiser to travel with only Devsena and his guards—to assert Kunthala's independence and subtly keep distance?
The candle of diplomacy burned low. Too much caution would insult Mahishmati. Too little might bind Kunthala into alliances it would regret.
At last, Virendra whispered to himself, "Let him come."
He would watch Bahubali closely. He would walk with his sister into the grand capital of the empire—and if Mahishmati thought it was welcoming a lamb, they would find themselves eye to eye with a tiger.