The smell of molten iron clung thickly to the humid evening air, heavy and pungent.
Beyond the palace walls, the village blacksmiths' hammers rang out in steady rhythm, beating raw iron into rudimentary tools and weapons.
Their forges were crude but functional—powered by coal and bellows, yielding brittle iron prone to cracking under pressure.
It was good enough for basic farming tools but far from suitable for quality armor or advanced weaponry.
Virendra stood on the hill overlooking the forge, his arms crossed, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
The faint orange glow of the furnaces illuminated the faces of the blacksmiths as they labored, sweat glistening on their skin.
His mind, however, was far removed from the scene before him.
It was rooted in memories of documentaries he had once watched—narrations of ancient iron refining techniques, the Bessemer process, and blast furnaces.
The knowledge lingered—scattered pieces of a forgotten puzzle—waiting to be reassembled.
---
The next morning, Virendra arrived at the forge, accompanied by two guards and a small retinue of palace engineers.
The head blacksmith, a burly man named Ramdas, wiped the sweat from his brow as he greeted them with a stiff bow.
"Rajkumar, you honor us," he said, his voice gruff with fatigue.
"Are you inspecting the new scythes?"
Virendra shook his head slightly, his eyes calm but resolute.
"No. I want you to show me how you refine the iron. From ore to blade."
The blacksmith blinked in surprise, glancing at the guards as if uncertain.
But he nodded quickly, gesturing for Virendra to follow him.
They walked through the sprawling blacksmith quarters, past rows of anvils, stone troughs, and furnaces.
The forge master explained the process in his coarse, unpolished speech:
The iron ore was heated in a simple bloomery furnace.
The molten iron was then hammered repeatedly to expel impurities, resulting in rough iron billets.
The process was slow and inconsistent, producing weak, low-carbon iron.
Virendra watched in silence, his mind analyzing each step.
When the process was over, he approached the forge master, his voice thoughtful.
"Do you ever mix charcoal directly with the ore?"
Ramdas scratched his beard, confused.
"No, Rajkumar. The charcoal only heats the ore. It is not part of the metal."
Virendra's lips curved faintly, his gaze calm but calculating.
"It should be. I want you to add finely ground charcoal powder into the molten iron."
The blacksmith frowned slightly, hesitant.
"But… charcoal is fuel, not part of the ore. It will burn away."
Virendra's expression remained steady, his tone unwavering.
"Try it. Let me see."
---
The forge master reluctantly obeyed, adding powdered charcoal into the furnace during the smelting process.
The carbon mixed with the iron, forming a rougher but denser alloy.
When the molten metal was cooled and hammered, the resulting billets were stronger and firmer, with fewer visible fractures.
The blacksmith's eyes widened in astonishment as he struck the billet against the anvil, testing its resilience.
It rang out with a sharper, clearer note, the sound of stronger metal.
"By the gods…" Ramdas muttered, his hands trembling slightly.
"It's tougher…"
But Virendra wasn't satisfied.
The metal was still too brittle, still prone to imperfections.
He turned to the forge master, his voice calm but commanding.
"Increase the heat. Keep the metal molten longer. Let the charcoal bond with it."
Ramdas hesitated, but he nodded quickly, obeying without question.
They stoked the furnaces hotter, keeping the iron molten for longer, giving the carbon time to fuse with the metal.
When they hammered the next batch into blades, they sparked less, indicating fewer impurities.
Virendra held one of the finished blades, running his fingers along its edge.
It was stronger and heavier, with a darker hue—the first signs of crude steel.
He turned to Ramdas, his gaze sharp.
"You will do this with every batch from now on."
The blacksmith bowed deeply, awe in his voice.
"As you command, Rajkumar."
---
That evening, Virendra sat at the council table beside his mother.
The throne room was filled with the murmurs of ministers discussing trade and taxation.
Yashodhara, ever composed, listened with a sharp-eyed intensity, her gaze shifting from one speaker to the next.
When they reached the topic of iron production, Virendra cleared his throat.
"Mother, I have introduced a new smelting process. The iron produced is stronger—more durable."
Yashodhara's brows lifted slightly, but she remained composed.
"Stronger? How so?"
Virendra explained the method, describing how carbon infusion made the iron denser and less brittle.
One of the ministers, Dheeraj, leaned forward with a skeptical frown.
"But what use is stronger iron, Rajkumar? We already produce more blades than we need."
Virendra's gaze hardened slightly, his voice calm but cutting.
"And how many of those blades bend and shatter in battle? How many shields split under a single strike?"
Dheeraj's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.
Yashodhara's eyes narrowed slightly, considering his words carefully.
She turned to the general of the royal guard, her voice measured.
"You will take fifty of the new blades. Test them against the old ones."
Her gaze slid back to Virendra, her eyes glimmering faintly with approval.
"If they hold, we will expand production."
Virendra nodded calmly, though pride stirred faintly in his chest.
His mother was sharp and deliberate, calculating risks before investing fully—a lesson she had drilled into him over the years.
---
In the weeks that followed, the new iron smelting technique became standard practice.
The stronger iron was used in:
Swords and spears for the palace guards.
Agricultural tools, which lasted longer and increased efficiency.
Reinforcements for the gates and watchtowers, fortifying Kuntala's defenses.
Within three months, the neighboring kingdoms began to take notice.
Their merchants inquired about the stronger iron, offering higher prices for trade deals.
Kuntala's influence grew subtly but steadily.
It was not a grand leap, but a small, significant step toward strengthening their position—one stone laid carefully atop another.
---
The late afternoon sun glimmered over the western hills, casting a warm golden hue over Kuntala's bustling trade district.
The scent of roasted spices and fresh bread wafted through the air as merchants called out their wares.
Stalls were lined with colorful silks, ornate jewelry, and glinting weapons—some freshly forged, others imported from distant lands.
The ring of metal against metal filled the air as blacksmiths demonstrated the sharpness of their blades to prospective buyers.
Virendra strode through the crowded market, flanked by two royal guards, his eyes keenly observing the weapon stalls.
He was searching for someone, a merchant he had heard whispers about—a man who allegedly had contacts with arms dealers beyond Mahishmati's reach.
---
Near the end of the market, Virendra spotted a modest but well-kept stall.
Rows of daggers, spears, and exotic blades adorned the wooden display.
Behind the stall stood a man in his mid-forties, lean and wiry, with piercing brown eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.
He wore a dark blue tunic of fine quality, clearly wealthier than the average merchant.
When their gazes met, the merchant's lips twitched into a sly smile—sharp and calculating.
"You've been watching me for a while, Rajkumar," he said in a low, steady voice, though his eyes never left Virendra's.
"What do you seek? Or… whom?"
Virendra raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the man's perceptiveness.
"Your name?"
The merchant's smile widened slightly, but he offered a slight bow.
"Ravindra, Rajkumar. Arms trader and humble servant of profit."
His tone was smooth, but his eyes betrayed a shrewd cunning, one that had earned him fortunes in risky trade deals.
Virendra's lips curved faintly, his eyes sharp with interest.
"I hear you deal in more than just humble wares, Ravindra."
The merchant's smile did not falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You hear too much, Rajkumar. Words like that can be costly."
Virendra stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough for only the merchant to hear.
"How much gold would it cost to buy your time?"
Ravindra's eyes glimmered with interest, and he gestured toward the back of the stall, where a discreet curtain hid a small chamber.
---
Behind the curtain, the dimly lit room was lined with chests and crates, each filled with weapons that were clearly not for public sale.
Virendra's eyes scanned the contents—
Curved blades from the south, known for their flexibility.
Throwing daggers balanced with precision.
And, most importantly, a collection of exotic crossbows, far superior to the simple bows of local hunters.
Virendra picked up a crossbow, testing its weight.
It was clunky and primitive, with a slow reload mechanism and a short range.
But it sparked an idea—the very weapon he had once seen in war documentaries: a repeating crossbow with enhanced firing capabilities.
He turned to Ravindra, his voice cool and commanding.
"This design is weak. I want you to build me a new one. One that can fire multiple bolts without reloading."
Ravindra's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.
"That would take months of testing."
Virendra's lips curved faintly, his voice laced with calm confidence.
"Then I suggest you start now."
---
Over the following weeks, Virendra visited Ravindra's workshop in secret, accompanied only by his most trusted guard, Baldev.
The weapon merchant's forge was smaller than the palace's, but it was stocked with exotic alloys and rare metals, materials acquired through his questionable connections.
Virendra worked alongside Ravindra's craftsmen, sketching rough designs from memory:
A crank-operated mechanism to reload bolts quickly.
Stronger steel limbs for greater tension and range.
A detachable magazine capable of holding multiple bolts.
The first prototypes were crude and unreliable—
The reloading mechanism jammed frequently.
The bolt magazines misaligned.
The range was inconsistent.
But Virendra's patience never wavered.
He refined the design, suggesting smaller gears, smoother levers, and better counterweights.
By the end of the third month, the repeating crossbow was ready.
---
In a secluded forest clearing, Ravindra and Virendra stood before a row of wooden targets, shaped like human silhouettes.
The royal guards watched in silence as Virendra lifted the crossbow, testing its balance.
Ravindra's eyes glimmered with excitement, but his voice remained steady.
"It will fire six bolts before needing to reload. It should be accurate up to fifty yards."
Virendra nodded silently, his fingers curling around the trigger.
He squeezed once—
The first bolt shot forward with a sharp twang, burying itself deep into the wooden chest.
Without lowering the weapon, he rotated the crank, automatically loading the next bolt.
He fired again and again in rapid succession—
The second bolt pierced the throat.
The third struck the abdomen.
The fourth and fifth bolts tore through the targets' limbs.
The final shot snapped through the skull, splintering the wood.
The guards stared in stunned silence.
Even Ravindra's breath caught slightly at the weapon's deadly efficiency.
Virendra lowered the crossbow, turning to Ravindra with a satisfied nod.
"Good. Now make more."
---
As the crossbows entered production, Virendra ensured that they were kept hidden from public view.
They were distributed only to the palace guards and elite archers.
The repeating crossbows gave Kuntala a significant advantage:
Their faster reload speed allowed for deadly volleys in quick succession.
The increased range made defending walls easier.
Their penetrating power made them lethal against armored foes.
Yashodhara, ever the strategic queen, took notice.
During a council meeting, she turned to Virendra with a calculating gaze.
"You've been spending much time in the merchant's company," she said smoothly.
"What have you crafted, my son?"
Virendra met her gaze evenly, his voice calm but unwavering.
"An advantage. One that I'll reveal only when necessary."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.
She knew better than to press him—her son's foresight had already proven invaluable.
---