The Royal Banquet

Three days after the assassination attempt, the mood in the palace was a volatile cocktail of fear, suspicion, and fragile, forced normalcy. The King's investigation had torn through the staff, resulting in a dozen arrests of low-level servants and guards on charges of negligence, but the true culprits remained elusive. Grand Steward Kavi, having been questioned personally by the King and emerging with his customary placid demeanor, seemed untouchable. The official narrative was that a foreign guild had infiltrated the palace through security lapses, an explanation that satisfied no one but was too politically convenient to challenge.

Amrit, for his part, maintained his role as the convalescing prince. He was seen taking slow, pained walks in the garden, leaning heavily on the arm of a servant. His face was pale (a simple trick of Prana control), and he would occasionally break into a fit of coughing (entirely feigned). The court gossips spoke of him with pity. The miracle had truly faded, they whispered. The assassination attempt had shattered what little recovery he had made.

Tonight, the King had ordered a royal banquet. The official reason was to restore morale and project an image of strength and stability to the court and the kingdom's nobility, who had been unsettled by the news. It was a declaration that despite the brazen attack, the crown was unshaken.

The true reason, Amrit knew, was that the banquet was a stage. It was a controlled environment where the King could observe all the people present in the banquet, gauge their reactions, and look for cracks in their facades. It was a test, and every major and key figure in the palace was a participant.

Amrit arrived late, making a deliberately weak entrance. He was dressed in fine white and gold silks, but they hung loosely on his frame. He leaned on Vaidya Bhaskar, each step appearing to be a significant effort. As he entered the Grand Banquet Hall—a gorgeous room filled with nobles in their finery, long tables laden with food, and the music of court musicians ,a hush fell over the assembly.

All eyes turned to him. He saw the pity, the morbid curiosity, and from some corners, a flicker of smug satisfaction. He allowed his gaze to sweep the room, his spiritual sense taking in the emotional landscape. He felt the coiled tension of his father, seated on the main dais. He felt the empty, hollow aura of Arjun, who had been forced to emerge from seclusion for the event, looking gaunt and defeated. And he felt the smooth, polished surface of Grand Steward Kavi's confidence, a man who believed he had won before the success come to him.

Kavi stood near the King's dais, overseeing the proceedings. He met Amrit's gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of what looked like sympathy and pity. It was the condescending pity of a predator for its dying prey and also type of a enjoyment.

Amrit offered a weak smile in return and allowed Vaidya Bhaskar to guide him to his seat, which was on the lower sides with his brothers, a place of honor he had never truly occupied before.

"Your Highness, are you well enough to be here?" Bhim asked in a low rumble, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. He had returned from the lower city two nights ago, his mission complete, and had told Amrit only that the message was delivered, as he was concerned abot his brother health and cultivation progress.

"The King's command cannot be ignored," Amrit whispered, his voice intentionally frail but it sounds firm and with lack of little bit of strength but also displease with today summon.

The banquet began. Speeches were made. Toasts were raised to the strength of the kingdom and the health of the royal family. The mood was superficially festive, but Amrit could feel the undercurrent of tension and scrutinyy of many figures. The King watched everyone like a hawk, his scrutiny a palpable force and with calculated but calm gaze.

Amrit ate little bit, drank only water, and contributed nothing to the conversations around him as he was little not that much intrested in palace politics and it's strugle . He was a ghost at the feast, a living embodiment of the court's anxieties.

Halfway through the meal, a Royal Shadow Guard entered the hall, his movements swift and silent. He approached the King's dais and whispered something in his ear.

The King's expression, which had been a mask of regal calm, hardened instantly. A dangerous light flared in his eyes. He raised a hand, and the court musicians fell silent. The chatter in the hall died down as tthe anxiety filled in the banquet.

"I have just received a report," the King announced, his voice like rolling thunder, causing the crystal goblets on the tables to vibrate. "The headquarters of a notorious organization of assassins, the Night Heron Guild, located in the neighboring kingdom of Magadha, was discovered this morning. It was… destroyed."

A wave of murmurs swept through the hall.

"Destroyed is not a strong enough word," the King continued, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles, lingering for a fraction of a second on Grand Steward Kavi. "The entire compound was annihilated. There were no survivors. But the method… the local authorities are baffled. There was no fire, no explosion. The bodies of over a hundred assassins were found, but they were not killed by conventional means, it was a brutal scene filled with only dread. They were… diced. Sliced into thousands of perfect, tiny pieces. The very stones of their fortress were subjected to the same fate."

A cold, terrifying silence fell over the Banquet Hall. The image the King painted was one of supernatural, incomprehensible power.

"Furthermore," the King said, his voice dropping, "a message was found, carved into the obsidian throne of the Guild Master. It was not carved with a tool. The investigators believe the very stone was commanded to reshape itself. The message was a warning, and a promise."

He paused, letting the tension build to an unbearable level. He looked directly at Amrit, who met his gaze with a carefully blank expression.

"The message contained two parts," the King said, his eyes still locked on his son. "The first was a name: 'Amrit of Kshirapura sends his regards.'"

A collective gasp echoed through the hall. Every head swiveled to stare at the pale, weak-looking prince. It was impossible. How could this dying boy be connected to such a terrifying, god-like massacre hundreds of miles away?

Grand Steward Kavi's polite smile finally faltered. A flicker of shock, quickly suppressed, passed through his eyes. He stared at Amrit, a seed of doubt sprouting in his mind.

"And the second part of the message…" the King's voice was now glacial. "Was a promise. It read: 'The next head I collect will belong to the man who paid for the contract.'"

The silence that followed was absolute. It was so quiet one could hear the frantic pounding of hearts.

The message was a thunderclap. It was a declaration of war, not from the kingdom, but from a single individual. It bypassed the King, the law, the entire system of justice. It was a personal, terrifying vendetta.

The King's gaze was a physical weight on Amrit. This was your doing, his eyes screamed. The message Bhim delivered. You are not a pawn in between the politics of palace i just want to cultivate. You are not a player. You are your own, independent power, making moves on a scale that I cannot control.

Amrit met his father's furious, astonished gaze and gave the slightest, almost imperceptible nod. Yes.

In that single, silent exchange, everything changed. The King finally understood. Amrit was not trying to win his father's game. He was demonstrating that he could obliterate the entire game board whenever he wished. The feigned weakness, the slow recovery—it was all a deliberate act, a stage play designed to lull his true enemy into a false sense of security while he moved his own, terrifying pieces.

The King slowly turned his gaze from Amrit to Grand Steward Kavi. The Grand Steward's face was now ashen. The confidence was gone, replaced by a dawning, abject terror. The threat was not from the King, who was bound by rules of evidence and politics. The threat was from a seemingly untouchable, vengeful entity who could annihilate a guild of assassins from another kingdom and promise to come for him next. He was no longer a viper safe in the palace. He was a mouse being stared at by a celestial hawk and he was terrified and once a while he also feared.. or maybe?

"It seems," the King said, his voice dangerously soft as he looked at his court, "that our kingdom has a guardian of unimaginable power. And that this guardian does not take kindly to those who threaten what is his."

The banquet was over. The festive mood had been replaced by a cold, primal fear. The nobles and officials looked at Amrit not with pity, but with a terror that bordered on worship. They were no longer looking at a frail prince. They were looking at a living ghost story, a boy who could command a power that shattered fortresses and diced men from afar. and a mountain that is top of their head and it will remain till the mountain does not fall or perish with the passage of time.

Amrit pushed his chair back and stood up, this time without the help of Vaidya Bhaskar. He stood tall, the pallor gone from his face, his eyes clear and sharp. The performance was over.

He looked directly at Grand Steward Kavi, across the entire length of the hall. He offered a small, cold smile. It was not a smile of forgiveness. It was the smile of a predator that had just cornered its prey.

Then, he turned and walked out of the Banquet Hall, his steps steady and sure. He did not want to say another word. His message and intention had been delivered, not just to the assassins, but to the entire kingdom. He was Prince Amrit. And he was not a mere pawn to be moved in any strugle related to political or millitary in kingdom. He was the hand that can set the board also destroy it , he wanted to convey it show no one can ever again try any foolish act which can cost their lives and also their whole upcoming future generation.