28. The raid

The night smelled of iron and smoke. Blood seeped into the cracked earth, mingling with the dirt and ash left by dying fires. The eastern pass, once a quiet trade route, was now a mass grave. Bodies lay scattered—some slumped over their weapons, others torn apart by the brutality of battle.

Harsh stood amidst the carnage, his sword slick with blood, his breath steady despite the destruction around him. The warmth of battle still clung to his skin, but beneath it was something colder. A realization.

This wasn't just a skirmish.

This was war.

And war had a price.

The attack had come before dawn, just as the sky turned from black to deep purple. The distant mountains had barely begun to glow with the first light when the enemy marched upon them.

A hundred men, armored and disciplined, had advanced under the banner of the Sen family—a force larger than Harsh had expected. They had moved quickly, methodically, securing choke points and cutting off retreat.

But they had underestimated him.

Harsh had planned for an attack. He had chosen this location for a reason. The cliffs gave him height, the shadows gave him cover, and the desperation of his men made them fight with the fury of the doomed.

From above, his archers rained down arrows. From the ravines, his warriors ambushed with curved blades, cutting down the first wave of attackers.

Still, it had been brutal.

The noble's forces fought as men who knew failure meant death. They did not break, even when they lost their formation. Even when their leaders fell.

And yet, in the end, they did fall.

But not without cost.

Harsh turned to Surya, who knelt beside a wounded soldier. His fingers pressed against the man's throat for a moment before he sighed and closed the soldier's eyes.

"Dead."

Harsh exhaled sharply. "How many?"

Surya wiped blood from his hands, his face grim. "Thirty killed. Another twenty wounded. We can't afford to lose more."

Vira strode up, his tunic smeared with dirt and gore, his usually sharp grin absent. "This wasn't just a scouting force. They wanted to see what we could do."

Harsh clenched his jaw. "And now they know."

The surviving enemy soldiers were dragged into the center of the camp. A dozen men, stripped of their weapons and armor, knelt in the dirt, hands bound.

Their leader, an older soldier with a scar running down his cheek, glared up at Harsh with open contempt. He spat at his feet.

"You think this is a victory?" the man snarled. "You've only signed your death warrant."

Harsh studied him. "Who sent you?"

The man smirked. "Kill me if you want. It won't change anything."

Harsh nodded at Vira.

Without hesitation, Vira stepped forward and drew his dagger, slashing it cleanly across the prisoner's throat. Blood sprayed onto the dirt as the man gurgled, eyes wide with shock before he crumpled.

The other prisoners stiffened. Fear flickered in their gazes.

Harsh turned to them. "Who sent you?"

A younger soldier swallowed hard. "Lord Varun," he stammered. "He ordered us to take back the pass."

Harsh's fingers tightened around his sword.

Varun.

A powerful noble, one who had kept his distance until now. The fact that he was acting meant the situation had changed.

Harsh turned to Surya. "Get every scrap of information from them. Then kill the ones who won't talk."

Surya nodded. The young soldier was dragged away, his screams lost in the night.

Harsh exhaled slowly.

This was just the beginning.

Days later, Harsh stood at the edge of the southern estates. The village ahead was too quiet.

His scouts had reported troubling news. Varun's forces had swept through, slaughtering those who opposed them and enslaving the rest. The streets were empty, the air thick with the scent of burnt wood.

Harsh clenched his fists. This wasn't just a punishment. It was a warning.

"They're expecting us to attack," Vira said beside him. "They'll be ready."

Harsh's gaze was cold. "Then let's not give them what they expect."

The attack came under the cover of darkness.

Harsh led the first wave, his enhanced strength allowing him to shatter the first line of guards with brutal efficiency. His sword cut through armor and bone alike, the weight of his blows knocking men off their feet.

Vira's men moved like shadows, slipping into homes and silencing enemies before they could raise the alarm.

Surya led a separate group to the holding pens, where villagers had been chained. The locks broke under his hands, the sound of iron giving way to freedom.

A noble officer stumbled into Harsh's path, his hands raised. "Wait, I—"

Harsh didn't let him finish. His blade cut across the man's throat, silencing him.

The battle was over in minutes.

But the damage had already been done.

Harsh knelt beside a dead woman, her arms wrapped protectively around the child she had tried to shield. He felt a sickening weight settle in his stomach.

For the first time since coming to this era, he understood something crucial.

This wasn't just a battle against enemies.

This was a battle against a world that had never questioned its cruelty.

As the fires died down, Harsh turned and saw her.

Wrapped in a deep-blue cloak, her face hidden in shadows, she watched him with the same unreadable expression she always wore.

"You warned me," he said.

She stepped closer, her voice low. "And you didn't listen."

Harsh exhaled. "What happens now?"

She met his gaze. "Now, they won't just send soldiers."

She hesitated. "They'll send assassins."

Harsh smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Let them come."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. They don't just want you dead."

She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "They want you erased."

Harsh's grip tightened around his sword.

They could try.

But he would make them regret it.

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