The news of the impending Pindari invasion struck the palace like a thunderclap. Virendra sat motionless in the council chamber as the reports were read aloud—scouts confirmed that the Pindari warbands, far larger than previously encountered, were gathering at the eastern passes. Estimates ranged from five to eight thousand raiders, a number significant enough to put the very heart of Kuntala at risk.
The generals shifted nervously, their fingers tapping the arms of their chairs. The council chamber—oval and stone-carved, rimmed with flaming brass braziers—felt stifling. Every breath of the gathered nobles was a mixture of fear, tension, and unspoken anticipation. All eyes turned to Virendra, the young royal whose reforms had lifted Kuntala to new strength in recent years.
He leaned forward, his fingers steepled together, and spoke in a calm voice that betrayed none of the internal storm he wrestled with. "The Pindaris wish to test our walls. Let us show them we are not a house of sand."
Outside, the call to arms echoed across the city. Drums beat a steady rhythm as couriers galloped between districts. A thousand smiths lit their furnaces. Workshops churned under frantic hammers. Steel and wood sang in unison. Cannons were scrubbed, polished, loaded. Spear tips were sharpened, leather armor stitched anew.
Virendra walked the forge district at dawn, inspecting each line of cannon crews. Over the last two years, he had introduced a new breed of light artillery—mobility-focused, reinforced with folded steel rings for structural integrity. They had a maximum effective range of 300 yards but were devastating in clusters. There were now one hundred such cannons.
"Distribute them in trios," he instructed Commander Vallabh. "Twelve to the eastern hillocks, twelve to the narrow pass. The rest, stagger in mobile wagons with rotating crews."
Vallabh, grey-bearded but loyal, nodded. "Shall we bring in Bahubali and his men?"
Virendra's steps slowed. That question had weighed heavily on him.
Bahubali's valor was unquestionable—his strength, matched only by his kindness and charisma. Yet he was a prince of Mahishmati. A son of Sivagami. With political tensions quietly boiling, revealing the full extent of Kuntala's arsenal could invite unintended consequences. Virendra recalled Kattappa's careful silence during their last conversation. Bahubali himself seemed to hold no guile, but Mahishmati was a serpent that smiled before it bit.
"He will fight if we allow him," Virendra said finally, his voice quiet. "But he must not see everything."
"A controlled battlefield?" Vallabh asked.
Virendra nodded. "Exactly. Let him defend the southern flanks with his 'uncle.' The main forces will engage in the north and east. Keep the advanced ballistas and powder carts out of his sight."
Devsena, having heard the discussions, approached him later in the training field. She wore her archer's armor—simplified for movement, her quiver on her back. Her hair was tied into a tight braid, eyes sharp with the weight of impending war.
"You don't trust him?" she asked simply.
"I admire him," Virendra replied. "But admiration is not enough. Not when our people's lives are at stake."
"And me?" she challenged.
"You can love him if you wish," Virendra said. "But don't forget that he carries Mahishmati's blood. And I will not see you weep for choosing wrong."
That silenced her.
The next three days were consumed with preparation. Virendra personally visited every garrison. He oversaw drills in mud and heat. Archers practiced in three-man squads. Sword units drilled with dummy targets. Cavalry squadrons rotated to build endurance. At night, blacksmiths brought him test samples of swords and arrowheads. He approved only the ones that cut through layered hides in one slash.
With grim efficiency, the mountain pass was rigged with tar pots and oil traps. Spiked wooden walls were pre-buried beneath soft soil. Boulder traps lined the cliffs above. The engineers, once idle dreamers, now served as military assets. Engineers who had once designed irrigation systems now carved deadly efficiency into hillsides.
The final count: 15,000 soldiers. 100 cannons. 800 archers. 1,500 heavy cavalry. Hundreds of supply carts. Field medics. Reserve runners. Mounted signalers.
But numbers alone could not calm the prince. He still stood each night on the tower, watching the horizon. He is not actually worried for this battle but what happens next.
On the fourth day, Bahubali came to him.
"Let me fight beside you," he said.
"You will," Virendra said. "But not where the real battle shall be."
Bahubali frowned.
"It's not because I doubt your strength," Virendra added quickly. "But I need a hero on the southern flank. Someone the villagers will rally behind. The eastern ridge is... dull. Too mechanical."
Bahubali smiled slightly. "You've turned war into mathematics."
"Mathematics wins wars," Virendra replied.
Bahubali accepted the post, though he sensed something beneath the surface. He trained with Devsena in the mornings, teaching her how to shoot three arrows at once accurately. She struggled at first, but his calm guidance turned frustration into laughter. By nightfall, she hit three targets with near-perfect aim. She laughed in triumph.
"You're becoming dangerous," Bahubali said, amused.
"I always was," she replied.
By the fifth day, all was ready. The wind over the hills carried the scent of war—oil, leather, sweat, steel.
Virendra stood on the cliff edge, looking down on his army. The soldiers saluted in rows like flowing rivers of metal. Behind him, Vallabh approached with a sealed message.
"Mahishmati scouts have been sighted to the north," he said.
Virendra didn't respond.
"If we fail," Vallabh said, "they will descend like vultures."
"Then we must not fail," Virendra said.
And with that, he gave the signal.
Drums boomed. Horns cried. The army of Kuntala marched.
And far ahead, across cracked plains and rising dust, the banners of the Pindari horde began to rise.
As dawn painted the sky in molten hues, the battlefield beyond Kunthala's southern gates stretched vast and tense. Dust curled like ghosts beneath the boots of thousands. The wind carried the scent of gunpowder, steel, and war. On the ridge stood Virendra, his silhouette calm yet commanding, the golden threads of his war robe catching the breeze.
To his left stood Devsena, bow strung across her back, her hair braided tightly and a flame in her eyes. On his right, Bahubali and Kattappa waited, the former in simple armor of a common soldier, the latter stone-faced and observant. A hundred of Mahishmati's spies and diplomats were scattered amongst the crowd, pretending to be wandering merchants and monks.
Virendra's voice boomed, "Let the world watch. Today, we turn vultures to ash."
The Pindari horde had come in full force—nearly eight thousand strong. Screaming and thundering on horseback, their dark banners flapping, their blades catching glints of sunlight. They believed Kunthala would crumble.
But as they rode forward, their ranks were torn open by cannonfire. The first row of enemy horses collapsed, the second thrown into disarray. The thunder of Kunthala's hundred cannons shattered not just bones, but spirit.
Observers from neighboring kingdoms gasped. This was not the same Kunthala they remembered.
Bahubali's eyes widened at the sheer scale of destruction. Even he—whose strength had never been matched—felt something stir inside him. "That... is not the work of cowards," he whispered.
Virendra unsheathed his sword, a crescent-forged weapon made with a blend of Damascus iron and Kunthala's newly refined steel. With one gesture, the Kunthala cavalry charged.
Devsena took to the right flank. Her arrows flew with deadly precision—three at a time, a skill she had mastered with Bahubali's help. When Pindari horsemen tried to flank the archers, she rained death upon them.
Bahubali could not resist joining. Fighting side by side with Devsena and Kattappa, he unleashed his fury upon enemy warlords. His movements were precise, but his eyes were drawn again and again to Virendra.
There the prince moved like lightning—cleaving through entire squads. His speed rivaled Bahubali's own, his sword skill as fluid as Kattappa's. But more than that, it was the grace with which he fought, leading without screaming, inspiring without demanding.
Kattappa, silent for most of the fight, finally muttered to Bahubali, "He fights like a shadow of a thousand veterans. I've never seen anything like it."
"Neither have I," Bahubali admitted.
---
Devsena's division had been given the hardest task—to lure the Pindari left wing into an ambush. With only three hundred elite archers, and a narrow pass behind her, she needed every advantage.
Bahubali, under the guise of Shivu, insisted on fighting at her side. "Let me take the front," he said. "I'm strong and simple, but I know when danger smells wrong."
Devsena almost smiled. His facade of simplicity was no longer fooling her entirely. But she allowed it.
As the Pindaris surrounded them, she gave the signal. Bahubali charged first—cutting through three horsemen before they touched ground. Devsena released a triple-shot at the enemy captain, piercing his armor and knocking him from his horse.
Their unit slowly fell back toward the narrow pass, luring in two hundred Pindaris. At the final moment, Virendra's hidden cavalry burst from behind the cliffs, slaughtering them in moments.
Night fell, and the battlefield grew still. But Virendra wasn't convinced. He summoned Bahubali, Kattappa, and his key commanders.
"They'll strike again before sunrise. We destroyed their honor. Now they'll come for vengeance."
The generals doubted it, but Bahubali agreed. "I would, if I were them."
Virendra ordered double patrols and fortified the eastern slope. Just as expected, at midnight the remaining 2,000 Pindaris launched a desperate assault.
But this time, the night belonged to Kunthala.
Virendra personally led the eastern flank, defending a critical battery of cannons. Bahubali held the northern ridge with Kattappa, fighting side by side in a storm of blades. Devsena arrived in time to save a squad of wounded soldiers, covering them with her arrows until reinforcements arrived.
By dawn, the Pindaris were routed. Their dead littered the field. Only a few hundred escaped.
Kunthala's casualties: 2,000. A heavy cost—but they had faced four times their number.
---
Among the smoke, the Mahishmati spies took notes. One rode swiftly back to the capital to report to Sivagami Devi.
She read the scroll thrice.
"Cannons? Tactical command? A prince who can defeat ten men alone?"
She grew silent. She had once thought Kunthala a minor kingdom with pride.
Now she saw the threat.
In her private chamber, she looked at Bhallaladeva's portrait beside the unopened wedding gift box.
"This is no longer a game of alliances," she murmured. "If Kunthala is this strong, then the future of Mahishmati is already at risk."
In her next council meeting, she ordered silent observation of Virendra. "No move. No threat. But we watch. From now until the end."
---