26. Dangerous massage

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the distant howls of jackals and the occasional creak of wood as the wind shifted the scaffolding of an unfinished tower in the courtyard. Harsh stood on the balcony of his chamber, staring out at the dimly lit camp below.

Fires flickered as his men huddled in groups, some sharpening their new curved blades, others murmuring in low voices about the training they had endured that day. Vira's brutal regimen had started to take effect—men who had once been clumsy with a weapon now moved with purpose.

But training alone wasn't enough. Harsh needed a test. A real fight.

A soft rustle behind him made him turn. Surya stepped out of the shadows, bowing slightly.

"It's done," Surya said. "The scouts report that the noble's supply caravan will pass through the eastern pass at dawn."

Harsh nodded, his mind racing through possibilities. This was a small step, but an important one. Taking down a supply caravan wouldn't just give his growing force much-needed weapons and food—it would send a message.

"Who commands the guards?" Harsh asked.

"A minor noble, but a capable one," Surya replied. "His name is Rudra Sen. He's taken part in a few border skirmishes. Disciplined, but not exceptional."

Harsh exhaled. "Then he's exactly what we need. Strong enough to pose a challenge but not strong enough to crush us."

Vira's voice cut through the air as he entered the chamber. "Are we ready for this?"

Harsh turned to him. "We have to be."

Vira smirked. "Then let's spill some noble blood."

---

The eastern pass was a narrow stretch of road carved between two towering cliffs. It was a perfect choke point—one way in, one way out.

Harsh and his men lay in wait among the rocks above, the darkness concealing them. The caravan was already visible in the distance, the flickering light of torches marking its slow progress through the pass.

Harsh motioned to Surya, who slipped away into the night. Moments later, a single arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself in the wooden wheel of the lead cart.

Shouts rang out as the guards sprang into action, drawing swords and forming a defensive perimeter around the wagons.

Then the real attack began.

Vira and his men surged down from the cliffs, striking hard and fast. The first wave of guards fell before they could react, their throats cut by the curved blades Harsh had designed. The others fought back fiercely, but they were outmaneuvered. Harsh had trained his men to be ghosts—striking from the shadows and vanishing before their enemies could counterattack.

Harsh himself waded into the fight, his twice-strong body giving him an edge over the average soldier. He caught a sword swing with his own, twisting it aside before driving his blade into the attacker's gut. Blood splattered across the dirt as the man crumpled.

The battle lasted only minutes. By the time the last guard fell, the caravan belonged to them.

Vira wiped his blade clean and grinned. "That was almost too easy."

Harsh stepped over a fallen body, scanning the wagons. Weapons, grain, cloth—everything they needed.

He turned to Surya. "Take what we can carry and burn the rest. Leave no trace."

Surya nodded and got to work.

Harsh glanced down at the noble's body. Rudra Sen had fought well, but in the end, he had been just another pawn in a game far greater than he understood.

This was only the beginning.

---

The next morning, Harsh sat in his tent, studying a parchment map spread across the wooden table. The eastern pass was now under his control. The question was—how long could he hold it before the nobles responded?

A soft knock came at the entrance.

"Enter," he called.

A young scout stepped in, bowing quickly. "My lord, a messenger arrived. He carries a letter for you."

Harsh's eyes narrowed. "From whom?"

The scout hesitated. "He would not say, only that it was urgent."

Harsh took the parchment and broke the seal. As his eyes scanned the words, his grip on the paper tightened.

It was from her.

'You move too boldly. Eyes are turning toward you. If you wish to survive, learn to strike from the shadows before the light finds you.'

No signature. None was needed.

Harsh exhaled, setting the letter down.

She was right. He had drawn attention. And in this game, attention could be deadly.

He would have to be smarter. More ruthless.

This war was just beginning.

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