Mughals strikes

Chapter : 8; The mughals strikes

Gritting his teeth, Ayush sighed at himself and his ability. Even with the system, he was still unable to save his mother.

He gently placed his mother on his lap, took out the body evolution potion from the system space, and finally put it under his mother's mouth, silently praying to God that at least it could save her.

However, half an hour had passed, but she hadn't woken up when there was a sound outside the tent.

"Who...?" Ayush didn't turn his head but asked when he heard footsteps approaching him.

"Your... Highness, Prince...? What are you doing here?" This time, it was Maan Singh and another doctor who had returned after collecting neem leaves and snake root from the forest.

"Maan... Singh? You have come back? Where have you gone?" Ayush turned his gaze toward Maan Singh in anger, his eyes extremely red with fury, his voice was cold.

Thump...!

Kneeling down in front of Ayush, Maan Singh said,

"Your Highness... it's my fault that I was unable to protect Her Majesty, the Queen, from the assassination. When we arrived, the assassin had already injured and poisoned Her Majesty, so we went to find the herbs."

Maan Singh showed the herbs—snake root and neem leaves—in his hand as he spoke to Ayush.

"Where are the others?" Ayush didn't reply to him but asked instead.

"They have also gone to find herbs... But, Your Highness, why is that doctor lying there?" Maan Singh asked.

"He dared to touch my mother!"

"Tie him up with a rope, hang him upside down, and light a fire beneath him!"

"I want him to be tortured so severely that anyone who sees it should never even think of harming my family." Ayush replied.

"Yes... Your Highness."

After that, Maan Singh left while the others arrived. Vikram helped Maan Singh carry out Ayush's orders.

Just like that, one day passed.

The previous day, Ayush had already given his location to the elite guards he had summoned.

They had also arrived because Ayush was certain that, no matter what, the Mughals would eventually trace them. And he couldn't keep running again and again, he had to face them.

Fortunately, a few dozen villagers had brought some resources to the camp, including many sickles and hoes that could be used in guerrilla warfare. Ayush knew that even if he won with the help of the elite guards, they would still get injured and some of them would get killed, and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, he planned to play a game of hide and seek with the enemy.

Next day.

At morning, a dense fog swept over the valley, hiding Ayush's makeshift camp from sight. The atmosphere was charged. All the warriors and villagers understood what was about to occur.

A distant thud-thud-thud echoed through the trees, the unmistakable rhythm of war drums. The Mughals had arrived.

Ayush was perched atop a small incline, his keen gaze intently scanning the approaching foe. His iris was like a camera zooming the picture in front of it.

Standing alert behind him were his famous guards, attired in battle armor, watchful as unobtrusive sentinels. Maan Singh, VIkram and Gaurav gripped their sword tightly, while their eyes glow with strong determination.

"They showed up earlier than expected," grumbled Vikram, crouching beside Ayush.

Ayush exhaled gradually. "I anticipated their actions. They are unwavering. Nevertheless, today, we engage on our own battle."

From the edge of the forest, the first of the Mughal Empire's scouts emerged, mounted archers reconnoitering the terrain. Behind them, infantry units marched in disciplined ranks, their metal armor glinting in the dim light of the early morning. A standard-bearer bore aloft a green and gold banner prominently, which bore the symbol of the Mughal Empire.

A man in rich armor stood at the front, his keen eyes surveying the surroundings, Zakir Hussain.

 This was the same man who had commanded the assassination of the queen. He raised a hand, ordering his soldiers to stop.

Ayush clenched his fists. "Zakir Hussain…" His voice was menacing, as he scaned this man with the data eyes.

Maan Singh moved forward. "Your Highness, we are in control here. The terrain is on our side, and the villagers are ready with traps. We can lure them in."

Ayush nodded. "Let them come closer. We strike only when they're deep enough."

The villagers, hiding in woods and behind rocks, clutched their makeshift weapons, sickles, hoes, wooden spears. Guerrilla war was their last hope.

Soon after, Zakir Hussain's voice resounded.

"Prince Ayush Chandra Mourya! We have you here! Surrender now, and your people will be spared!"

Ayush was smirking. "Repeat my message back to him," he told Vikram.

Vikram took up a burning arrow and let it go. It, whooshed, through the air and fell upon the Mughal flag, setting it ablaze.

Zakir Hussain's face turned dark. "So be it."

He unsheathed his sword. "Forward!"

The battle has started.

..

The ground shook beneath the intense charge of the Mughal troops. Their metal armor rang out as they moved forward with every step, and their swords and polearms glinted in the faint light spreading through the mist.

Ayush stood firm, his eyes on the advancing enemy. His heart raced, anxiety, but not fear; it was eagerness in truth. His eye was like a eagle, sensing every detail in front of him on the battlefield, and when to strike.

Without turning his head, he bellowed,

"Maan Singh."

"Indeed, Your Highness?"

"Alert the villagers. Let the game start."

Maan Singh held up his hand, creating a soft whistle that echoed through the tree-canopied space. Instantly, the forest came alive. Hiding behind the trees, the villagers let loose.

 Wooden pikes and rocks rained down from above the treetop cover. Traps that had been purposefully hidden and set the night before triggered their mechanism, horses burst forth, throwing their riders to the ground below.

The Mughal soldiers were agitated when the ambush disrupted their line of formation. The air was charged with threatening shouts and disarray. However, their officers quickly restored order and discipline.

"Archers, fire!" shouted Zakir Hussain.

An arrow volley filled the air, heading towards Ayush's position.

Ayush shouted, "Activate shields!"

The elite guards standing at strategic positions around the hill stood up on their large shields, thereby creating an impenetrable barrier. The arrows struck uselessly against the wood and iron.

"Stand where you are!" yelled Vikram as a group of Mughal soldiers climbed the hillside, their swords glinting in the sun.

Ayush moved forward, drawing his sword in a smooth and elegant motion. The sword cut through the air with a ringing metallic sound. He took a deep breath and began his battle fight. His first blow pierced the armor of the nearest soldier with ease. Spinning on his foot, he parried another blow, displaying movements that were fluid but precise. Each step was a deliberate action, and each blow was one made with purpose.

His elite guards stepped out together, pushing into the enemy ranks with ferocious precision. They were like legendary warriors on the battle plain, unyielding and unwavering. But still the Mughals pressed forward, their armies seeming to be limitless.

Operating from close to the forest line, Maan Singh had a group of villagers launch a quick hit-and-run raid. Armed with sickles, hoes, and crude spears, they attacked scattered Mughal troops, advancing and then falling back into the forest in quick succession.

They were able to vanish rapidly into the haze before any counterattack could be organized because they were familiar with the country.

"Advance with courage!" Zakir shouted, urging his steed into the conflict. He swiftly struck down a local inhabitant obstructing his route with a gleam of metal.

 "Dismember them! The prince belongs to me!"

Ayush glared at Zakir. The rest of the world around him began to disappear. This man had poisoned his mother. Ayush's rage flowed stronger, propelling every step he took.

"Zakir Hussain!" Ayush yelled out loudly amidst the chaos of war.

 His voice was now like, it was coming from depth of hell.

Zakir's head abruptly turned in his direction. Their gazes intersected, contempt confronting contempt.

With a firm grip on the reins, Zakir urged his horse toward Ayush. The soldiers who stood around him involuntarily stepped back, intuitively knowing that this moment was a turning point in the war.

Ayush held his sword in his hand. "Fight me!"

There was a momentary calm in the air. Suddenly, with a spurt of pace, Zakir advanced.

The swords clashed, the metallic sound ringing out across the valley, metal on metal.

Sparks scattered as they clashed repeatedly, neither man yielding. The swords darted with a speed the eye could hardly keep up with, each strike a manifestation of their vengeance.

"Your mother would have died that night," Zakir shouted with gritted teeth, sword pressed against Ayush's."

Ayush's vision was clouded by his rage. With a bellow, he pushed Zakir aside with a forceful shove and showered him with an intensifying flood of punches, forcing the Mughal general to parry a succession of blows. But Zakir was no common soldier, with equal quickness and accuracy, he parried each blow, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.

Their struggle encircled them at the time and was persistent; the two simply didn't care about its turmoil. Their thoughts, at the time, were only centered on the clash of swords, the ferocity of hatred, and the unspoken promise that in the end, only one would be able to leave this battle.

[A/N :- Are you satisfied with the chapter?

Whether you are or not, but personally myself is not.]