Chapter 429 - 397: Forbid The Prince... The Face Off Of Army...

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

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He turned towards the entrance of the tent and summoned one of his trusted officers, instructing him to arrange suitable quarters for the prince within the inner camp and appoint two reliable guards who would remain close enough to protect him without making him feel like a prisoner.

He also ordered that a second messenger be prepared to return to the capital, carrying a personal letter for the queen in which he would explain that their son was safe and under his direct supervision.

The first message would at least prevent the royal household from continuing to search blindly, but Vrishasena knew that a few hurried assurances would not erase the fear his wife had endured.

As the officer departed to carry out his orders, the prince glanced towards the distant ranks of soldiers visible beyond the tent.

The banners of Vrishabhapura fluttered in the wind, and the sounds of men preparing for battle drifted across the camp.

He had imagined that standing among those soldiers would make him feel closer to his father, but now he understood that being permitted to remain there would not mean he could participate in everything he saw.

Vrishasena noticed the direction of his gaze and rested a hand upon his son’s head.

"You will have your opportunity to become a capable king one day,"

he said, his voice carrying the weight of a promise.

"But you must survive long enough to reach that day. Do not force me to choose between leading my army and keeping you safe, because I will never forgive myself if your ambition makes that choice necessary."

The prince looked up at him and nodded, finally accepting that the matter was no longer open for debate.

Vrishasena watched his son for another moment before turning towards the preparations awaiting him outside.

The war with Devara was approaching, the alliance against him had grown stronger than expected, and the decisions made over the next few days could determine the future of Vrishabhapura.

Yet, for all the authority he commanded and all the soldiers who stood ready to obey him, the king had just been reminded of a truth that no throne could change.

He could order armies to march, commanders to attack, and kingdoms to negotiate, but he could not command his son to remain a child forever, nor could he shield him from every consequence of growing up.

For now, all Vrishasena could do was keep the boy close, teach him what he could, and pray that the coming war would not bring the kind of loss that had shaped his own childhood.

The following morning, the battlefield that had remained quiet beneath the fading light of the previous evening was transformed into a vast ocean of warriors, weapons, and fluttering banners.

The first rays of the rising sun spread across the plains, illuminating the countless soldiers who had assembled on either side, their armour catching the golden light as they stood in their assigned formations.

Horses stamped their hooves impatiently, war elephants trumpeted beneath the watchful eyes of their mahouts, and charioteers checked their reins and wheels one final time.

Archers stood with arrows ready beside their bows, infantrymen tightened their grips on spears and swords, and commanders moved through their formations, offering final instructions to men who knew that the coming hours might determine whether they returned home victorious or were carried away by their companions.

At the centre of Trivenivrata’s army stood Devara upon his magnificent Vajravyaghra Rath, the divine chariot drawn by his four enormous sabertooth tigers.

Their powerful bodies gleamed beneath the morning sunlight, and their piercing eyes surveyed the opposing army with an intelligence that made even experienced warriors hesitate when they happened to meet their gaze.

Devara stood upright upon the chariot, dressed in his battle attire, his weapons secured and his expression unusually solemn.

The playful warmth he often displayed around his family was absent, replaced by the composed demeanour of a king who understood the terrible responsibility resting upon his shoulders.

Behind him, the banners of Trivenivrata and its allied kingdoms fluttered in the morning breeze, their soldiers standing ready beneath the insignias of rulers who had chosen to fight beside him.

For the first time since the dispute over the Ashvamedha horse had begun, Devara could properly observe the full strength of the army assembled against him.

The ranks stretched far across the opposite side of the plain, with Vrishabhapura’s bull banners rising above the soldiers like dark silhouettes against the brightening sky.

Even from a distance, Devara could recognise the discipline in their formations and the care with which their commanders had arranged the different divisions.

These were not soldiers who had gathered hastily in response to an unexpected threat.

They had been trained to obey, drilled to maintain formation, and prepared to fight for a king whose authority they had been taught never to question.

Devara’s gaze eventually settled upon the chariot positioned at the forefront of the opposing army.

There stood Vrishasena.

The king of Vrishabhapura wore his armour with the confidence of a man accustomed to commanding obedience, his royal insignia displayed prominently upon his chest.

His chariot was surrounded by experienced guards, while the commanders beneath his banner maintained their positions with rigid discipline.

Vrishasena stood with one hand resting upon the railing of his chariot, looking directly across the battlefield towards the man whose policies, reputation, and growing influence had become an affront to everything he believed a king should represent.

For several moments, neither ruler spoke.

They simply looked at each other across the enormous stretch of land separating their armies, finally placing a face before the name that had dominated their thoughts for days.

Vrishasena had heard countless stories about Devara.

He had heard that the king of Trivenivrata welcomed students regardless of their birth, that medical knowledge was taught to those whom traditional authorities considered unworthy of receiving it, and that the kingdom had prospered instead of suffering the divine punishment that Vrishasena’s own guru had predicted.

He had also heard the extraordinary accounts of Devara’s divine family and the beings who supposedly stood behind him.

Some called him blessed, others called him dangerous, and a few had begun to speak of him as though his authority extended beyond the ordinary limits of kingship.

Now, seeing Devara standing upon that extraordinary chariot, Vrishasena found himself confronting the man behind those stories.

The four enormous beasts pulling the chariot were unlike any ordinary animals he had encountered, and the calm manner in which Devara surveyed the battlefield suggested that the approaching conflict had not shaken his resolve.

Yet Vrishasena refused to allow himself to be impressed.

He had not marched his army here to reconsider his beliefs merely because his opponent possessed an imposing appearance.

Across the plain, Devara studied Vrishasena in much the same way.

He saw a king surrounded by soldiers who appeared disciplined and prepared, a ruler who had brought an enormous force to settle a dispute that might once have been resolved through negotiation.

Devara knew the man’s history, understood the insecurity that had shaped his rule, and recognised that Vrishasena’s attachment to authority was rooted in more than simple arrogance.

However, understanding the reasons behind another man’s actions did not mean he intended to tolerate them, especially when those actions threatened his kingdom, his people, and the principles for which he had spent years working.

So this is the man who believes that knowledge must be guarded from those he considers unworthy, Devara thought, his gaze remaining fixed upon the opposing king.

He has brought thousands of men here because he cannot accept that another kingdom has chosen a different path.

I wonder whether he understands what he is asking these men to sacrifice for his pride.

His expression hardened slightly as the memory of Vrishasena’s letter returned to him, particularly the insulting words directed towards his wives.

Devara had no intention of forgetting those words, but he had promised himself that he would not allow personal anger to dictate every decision he made on the battlefield.

There were thousands of soldiers standing behind him, each with a family, a home, and a life beyond the reach of royal disputes.

They deserved a king who could distinguish between defending his honour and sacrificing their lives merely to satisfy his temper.

The sun continued its slow ascent, rising above the distant horizon until its golden light spread across the entire battlefield.

The morning breeze carried the scent of damp earth and trampled grass, mingling with the metallic odour of weapons and armour.

Somewhere within the allied formations, a horse neighed loudly, answered by the deep trumpet of an elephant.

The sounds travelled across the field, but neither army moved from its position.

Then, from the centre of Vrishabhapura’s formation, a royal commander raised his arm.

A moment later, a great conch sounded.

Its deep, resonant call rolled across the plains, echoing between the two armies and stirring the hearts of thousands of warriors.

The sound was followed by another conch from the allied side, then another and another, until the air itself seemed to vibrate beneath the combined calls.

The sacred instruments announced that the appointed hour had arrived and that the agreements reached by the commanders the previous day had been fulfilled.

There would be no surprise attack before sunrise, no dispute over the beginning of the battle.

From that moment onwards, the fate of the armies would be decided by their actions.

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(Author note:)

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