Chapter 445 - 413: Cut Across The Face...

(A/N):

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

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The silence that followed Vrishasena’s declaration of defeat did not last long.

From a considerable distance, the sound of approaching horses and chariots began to reach the battlefield.

Several soldiers turned towards the source of the noise, and one of the allied commanders immediately instructed his men to remain alert until the approaching force could be identified.

It did not take long.

The reinforcements from Vrishabhapura had finally arrived.

At their head were several commanders who had been assigned to guard the kingdom’s remaining forces, accompanied by a contingent of soldiers.

Among them was the young crown prince, who had insisted on accompanying the reinforcements after hearing the alarming reports from the battlefield.

He had spent the journey imagining all sorts of possibilities.

Perhaps his father had defeated Devara’s army and was now preparing to return.

Perhaps the battle had ended with a victory, and the reinforcements were simply arriving too late to participate.

But as they approached the battlefield, those hopeful thoughts began to disappear.

The first thing they noticed was the sheer number of fallen soldiers scattered across the field.

Broken chariots, shattered weapons, damaged shields, and torn banners lay everywhere.

The ground bore the marks of countless astras, and the remnants of divine energy still lingered in the air.

Then they noticed the surviving Vrishabhapura soldiers.

They were not advancing.

They were not celebrating.

Many stood with their heads lowered, while others sat beside their wounded companions.

Several had surrendered their weapons, and the remaining commanders appeared to be gathered around a particular section of the battlefield.

The reinforcements slowed.

"What happened here?"

one of the newly arrived commanders asked, unable to conceal his shock.

Nobody immediately answered.

The prince, sitting in his chariot, looked around with growing apprehension.

He recognised the banners of his kingdom, but their condition was nothing like what he had imagined.

The soldiers who remained were barely recognisable beneath the dust and blood covering their armour.

"Where is my father?" he asked.

The commander beside him hesitated.

"Your Highness, we should proceed carefully."

"I asked where my father is!"

The commander pointed towards the distant gathering of chariots.

The prince followed his gesture.

Because of the distance, he could not clearly distinguish everyone standing there.

However, he could recognise the familiar figure of his father, even from behind.

Vrishasena was standing before another man, surrounded by several warriors.

The prince leaned forward.

"Father..."

His voice was barely audible.

Then his attention shifted towards the man standing before the king.

Devara.

Even from that distance, something about him made the young prince uneasy.

The way he stood, the calmness in his posture, and the manner in which the surrounding warriors appeared to give him space created an overwhelming impression.

The boy could not understand why, but merely looking at that man made him feel an unfamiliar pressure.

He was about to ask one of the commanders who the man was when something happened.

It happened so suddenly that most of the people watching could barely comprehend it.

Devara moved.

There was a brief flash of steel as his blade swept across Vrishasena’s face.

A sharp cry escaped the king.

His right mouth corner was slashed, and his tongue was severed, falling onto the bloodstained earth.

Vrishasena staggered backwards before collapsing onto his knees.

Both hands flew towards his mouth as blood streamed between his fingers.

His muffled screams echoed across the battlefield while his remaining soldiers hurried towards him.

"YOUR MAJESTY!"

Two soldiers immediately supported him, while another called for the royal physicians.

One of the commanders pushed through the gathering warriors and knelt beside the king, trying to assess the severity of his injuries.

Vrishasena could barely breathe through the pain.

Yet even as he struggled, his eyes remained fixed on Devara.

There was no submission in them.

Only rage.

A burning, uncontrollable hatred that seemed to consume whatever composure he had left.

Devara stood before him, his expression unreadable.

He lowered his weapon, allowing the blood to drip from its edge before handing it to an attendant.

"The words you spoke about my wives will not be forgotten," he said calmly.

Vrishasena tried to respond, but only an agonised, incomprehensible sound emerged from his throat. His hands trembled as the soldiers continued supporting him.

And then...

"FATHER!"

The scream tore across the battlefield.

Everyone turned.

The reinforcements had finally reached the outer edge of the battlefield, and the young prince was no longer sitting in his chariot.

He had jumped down and was running towards the gathering, ignoring the commanders who were desperately trying to stop him.

"FATHER!"

His small figure rushed past the soldiers.

The commanders accompanying him immediately realised what had happened.

Their expressions changed as they saw Vrishasena kneeling on the ground, his face covered in blood, while the severed tongue lay nearby.

The prince stopped for a fraction of a second.

His eyes moved from his father’s bloodied face to the man standing before him.

Then he ran again.

"FATHER!"

The soldiers supporting Vrishasena looked up as the boy approached.

One of them tried to stop him, but the prince pushed past, dropping to his knees beside his father.

"Father! What happened to you?"

He reached for Vrishasena’s hands, trying to pull them away from his mouth, but the soldiers gently restrained him.

"Your Highness, please! Do not touch the wound!"

"Let me see him! Father!"

Vrishasena turned towards his son.

The moment their eyes met, his expression changed.

The fury that had filled his face was momentarily replaced by something else.

He tried to speak.

He wanted to tell the boy not to cry, that he was still alive, that everything would be all right.

But his severed tongue made speech impossible.

Only a painful, muffled sound escaped him.

The prince stared at him, his eyes widening as the reality of his father’s condition finally began to sink in.

Then he looked towards Devara.

"YOU!"

His voice trembled, but he forced the words out.

"YOU HURT MY FATHER!"

The battlefield fell silent once more.

The commanders who had arrived with the reinforcements stood frozen.

Some instinctively reached for their weapons, while others looked towards their wounded king, unsure how to react.

The prince slowly rose to his feet.

He was only ten years old, and his hands were trembling.

Yet he placed himself between his father and Devara, spreading his arms as though his small body could somehow protect the king from the man who had defeated an entire army.

"Why did you do that?"

he demanded, tears gathering in his eyes.

"My father already lost! He said the war was over! Why did you hurt him?"

Devara looked down at the boy.

For the first time since the arrival of the reinforcements, his expression changed slightly.

He recognised the child by the way he addressed King Vrishasena.

The crown prince of Vrishabhapura.

Behind the prince, Vrishasena struggled to lift one hand.

Despite his pain, he reached towards his son, attempting to pull him away from Devara.

But the boy did not move.

He continued staring at the victorious king, his small fists clenched.

"Give my father back his tongue!" he cried.

No one answered immediately.

The war had ended, but the arrival of the young prince had brought a new and deeply painful confrontation to the battlefield.

Devara looked down at the young prince, who continued standing between him and his wounded father.

The boy’s arms were spread protectively, and although his hands trembled, he made no attempt to step aside. His eyes were filled with tears, but beneath the fear was an unmistakable anger.

"Why did you hurt my father?" the prince repeated.

"He already surrendered! He said the war was over! Why did you do that to him?"

Devara regarded the boy quietly before answering.

"Your father made certain decisions, young prince. Every action carries a consequence, and sometimes those consequences are far more painful than the person responsible ever imagined."

The prince frowned, struggling to understand.

"Your father sent an army into my kingdom and demanded that my people abandon the way of life they had chosen. He insulted my family, believing that he could speak about my wives without facing any consequences. I warned him that I would not let those words go unanswered."

Devara paused, his gaze briefly moving towards Vrishasena.

"What happened today was the consequence of his own actions. Your father had the opportunity to avoid this, but he chose otherwise."

The prince looked towards his father, then back at Devara.

"But he is my father!"

"I understand that," Devara replied.

"And I hope you will understand one day that being a king does not make a person free from responsibility. A crown does not protect someone from the consequences of their decisions."

Before Devara could continue, he noticed movement behind the boy.

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(Author note:)

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