85. Fruits of Labor

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, casting a golden hue upon the vast fields of wheat and barley that stretched as far as the eye could see. The once-barren lands, scarred by years of war and oppression, were now teeming with life. The rivers ran fuller, their waters nourishing the fields. Prosperous villages dotted the landscape, filled with the hum of industry and the laughter of children.

It had been five years since Harsh had wrested control from the corrupt noble factions. Five years since he had begun building a new world on the foundation of equality and justice.

The kingdom of Suryagarh, once a fractured land plagued by internal conflicts and crumbling under the weight of its own nobility, now stood as a beacon of prosperity.

But its rising power had not gone unnoticed.

The neighboring kingdoms—once dismissive of the "rebel lord"—now watched Harsh with wary eyes. His kingdom's wealth, trade routes, and thriving agricultural production were rapidly outpacing their own. His growing influence made them anxious.

Yet they hesitated.

For while Harsh's lands were prosperous, they were also heavily fortified.

And his army was no longer made of scattered villagers and mercenaries.

It was a force of hardened veterans, trained and disciplined, with loyalty carved into their bones.

---

The palace courtyard was alive with the scent of jasmine and rosewater. The sound of chattering birds filled the air as peacocks lazily fanned their tails under the shade of flowering trees.

Harsh sat on a low stone bench beneath the shade of a neem tree. His arms were wrapped around a giggling three-year-old boy with a mop of thick, unruly hair and piercing black eyes. The child squirmed playfully, trying to wriggle out of his father's grasp.

"Appa! Let me go!" the boy squealed, kicking his small feet in mock protest.

Harsh grinned, tightening his grip, easily holding him with one arm.

"You think you're strong enough to escape me?" he teased, arching a brow.

The boy giggled louder, kicking harder.

"I am! I am!"

Nearby, a one-year-old girl with large, curious eyes and a crown of soft curls sat on the grass, clumsily stacking small clay blocks. She let out a high-pitched squeal of delight whenever she managed to balance one atop another.

Her nursemaid, sitting nearby, clapped softly.

"Princess Revati is going to be an architect, I think," the woman chuckled softly.

Ishani emerged from the palace doors, watching the scene with a faint smile. She wore a flowing, pale-green sari embroidered with delicate gold filigree. Her long hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, adorned with small pearls.

Harsh looked up as she approached, and his eyes softened with warmth.

"You should have told me you were coming," he said, smiling as he shifted their son onto his lap.

Ishani knelt beside them, brushing the child's hair from his eyes.

"Do I need an invitation to see my own husband and children?" she teased softly.

The boy clambered into her arms, clinging to her neck.

"Amma! Appa was cheating!" he tattled, his voice thick with mock indignation.

Ishani laughed, kissing his forehead.

"Was he now?" she glanced at Harsh with playful suspicion.

"Cheating your own son? How shameless."

Harsh shook his head, feigning innocence.

"I was merely training him for the future."

He reached out, gently tugging at his daughter's chubby hand, making her giggle.

"Unlike her, he'll need more than a sweet face to win battles."

Ishani smiled but gave him a pointed look.

"Then perhaps you should teach him something other than wrestling his father."

Her eyes darkened slightly.

"Like how to rule with wisdom instead of strength."

Harsh's playful grin faded slightly.

He exhaled softly, nodding.

"I will."

---

Later that day, Harsh stood at the top of the palace walls, surveying the land below. From this vantage point, he could see far beyond the city walls—the network of villages, the sprawling farmlands, and the silver thread of the river cutting through the fields.

The granaries were full, the markets bustling with trade.

Merchants from neighboring lands had begun to seek out Suryagarh, enticed by its wealth and stability.

Gold and silver flowed into the kingdom's coffers.

And yet, Harsh's eyes remained hard, calculating.

For he knew that wealth invited envy.

And envy invited war.

Behind him, Rohin approached, his expression grim.

"The scouts have returned," he said, his voice low.

"The neighboring lords are growing bolder. Several smaller border settlements have been raided. The attackers withdrew before our forces could intercept them."

Harsh's jaw clenched slightly.

"Testing us," he muttered.

"They want to know how quickly we respond. How far they can push."

Rohin nodded grimly.

"They're looking for weaknesses."

Harsh's gaze hardened, and he turned back to the landscape.

"Let them look," he said coldly.

"They won't find any."

---

The army that once struggled with irregular supplies and undisciplined recruits was now an iron wall.

Harsh's reforms over the past five years had reshaped the military into a force unlike any other in the region.

He had incorporated strict rotational training, ensuring that even the reserve units remained battle-ready. Farmers were trained to wield spears and bows, creating a large, capable militia that could be summoned swiftly in times of crisis.

He introduced standardized weapons and armor. His blacksmiths, using improved iron-smelting techniques, crafted lighter, more durable blades. Crossbows, now mass-produced, gave his soldiers greater range and accuracy in battle.

But it was not just steel that made his army formidable.

It was the unity behind it.

Unlike other kingdoms, Harsh's soldiers were not bound by fealty to a noble lord.

They were loyal to him—and more importantly, to the ideals he had instilled.

Men from the lower castes now held ranks that once belonged only to the nobles.

Commanders and officers were promoted by merit, not birth.

It gave the soldiers purpose.

It gave them fire.

And that fire made them unstoppable.

---

That night, Harsh stood in the open balcony of his chambers, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air. The stars were bright and scattered across the sky like shards of broken glass.

Ishani approached quietly, her bare feet barely making a sound on the cool marble floor. She slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back.

For a moment, they stood in silence.

"You're thinking about them again, aren't you?" she whispered.

"The other kingdoms."

Harsh exhaled softly.

"Yes."

She hugged him more tightly.

"Let them come," she whispered.

"They can send their armies and their lords.

But they cannot send men stronger than yours.

They cannot match your people's hearts."

Harsh slowly turned to face her.

Her eyes—fierce, unwavering, and unafraid—met his.

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

"You're right," he murmured.

"They can't."

And when he kissed her, he tasted nothing but resolve.

For his people.

For his children.

For the kingdom he had built with blood and fire.

And for the future he would fight to protect.