Chapter 211: Chapter 209: I Have Waited All This Time... To Say To Your Face...
(A/N):
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Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...
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The soldiers guarding Vikrama Varma’s tent stood shoulder to shoulder, forming an unbreakable wall of steel.
Not one of them stepped back.
Not one of them showed fear.
They had already accepted their fate.
If their deaths could buy even a few more moments for the ritual inside to be completed...
Then they would gladly offer their lives.
King Padmanabha Varma tightened his grip around his sword.
"There are too many."
"If we force our way through, the ritual may already be complete by the time we reach him."
The Crown Prince silently agreed.
"...."
Every passing heartbeat favored Vikrama Varma.
Yet...
The man standing before them appeared completely unconcerned.
Devara calmly observed the line of soldiers blocking the entrance.
"...."
His emerald eyes showed neither anger nor pity.
Only quiet resolve.
Then...
The two radiant swords hovering in his hands dissolved into countless particles of golden light before disappearing entirely.
The sudden disappearance of the divine blades caused both the King and the Crown Prince to stare in confusion.
"He dismissed them...?"
Before either of them could understand why...
Devaratha slowly raised his right hand.
Golden ripples spread through the air.
A majestic weapon emerged from within the shimmering light.
An axe.
Its blade shone with a brilliant golden radiance, while its long handle was forged from gleaming silver.
It possessed neither extravagant decorations nor excessive ornamentation.
Its very simplicity radiated overwhelming authority.
The moment it appeared...
The surrounding air grew noticeably heavier.
The earth beneath Devaratha’s feet groaned softly.
Even the wind seemed to fall silent.
King Padmanabha Varma instinctively felt his heart skip a beat.
The Crown Prince unconsciously took half a step backward.
Neither of them knew the weapon’s name.
But every instinct they possessed screamed that it was no ordinary divine armament.
It was Rudhirabhra.
The divine axe bestowed upon Devaratha by Lord Parashurama after he had completed his training.
A golden blade.
A silver handle.
The perfect counterpart to the axe wielded by his guru.
Where Parashurama’s axe existed to bring an end to arrogance...
Rudhirabhra awakened before overwhelming opposition.
The greater the number of enemies... The stronger its divine will became.
And unlike most celestial weapons...
It did not always wait for its master’s command.
Sometimes...
It chose its own moment to strike.
The loyal soldiers surrounding Vikrama Varma’s tent tightened their formation.
"Hold the line!"
"Protect the Mahamantri!"
"Do not let him through!"
Dozens of shields locked together.
Spears lowered.
Swords rose.
Devaratha simply looked at them.
Then...
Without uttering a single word...
He swung Rudhirabhra once.
Just once.
There was no earth-shattering roar.
No explosion of divine light.
Only a single, impossibly clean arc of gold.
SHHHHNK!
The world seemed to pause.
The soldiers continued standing exactly where they were.
None of them understood what had happened.
Then...
One after another...
Their weapons split apart.
Their shields separated into perfect halves.
Their armor divided as though sliced by an invisible line.
The ground beneath their feet cracked open.
Behind them...
The enormous command tent trembled.
A thin golden line appeared across its entire width.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing moved.
Then the impossible happened.
The upper half of Vikrama Varma’s massive command tent slowly slid away from the lower half before being carried high into the night sky.
Canvas.
Wooden beams.
Royal banners.
Everything above the cut lifted into the air as though the heavens themselves had peeled the tent open.
A powerful gust swept across the encampment.
The severed canvas spun through the sky before crashing into the ground far behind the battlefield.
The ritual chamber that had remained hidden until now was laid completely bare.
At the center stood an enormous fire pit burning with crimson-black flames.
Ancient symbols covered the earth in concentric circles.
Several tribesmen, their bodies painted with blood and ash, remained frozen in place, their mouths still open from the chants they had been reciting only a moment earlier.
Their expressions slowly shifted from concentration...
To utter disbelief.
Standing among them was Vikrama Varma.
Only a heartbeat earlier, he had been patiently waiting for the ritual’s completion.
Now...
He found himself standing beneath the open night sky.
The protective tent that had concealed the ritual had vanished.
The circle of loyal guards he had relied upon had disappeared.
The cold night wind swept across his face.
He blinked several times, looking around in confusion.
"...What..."
His voice caught in his throat.
"...What happened?"
His eyes slowly lifted.
At the edge of the shattered ritual ground stood Devaratha, Rudhirabhra resting calmly upon his shoulder.
Behind him stood King Padmanabha Varma and the Crown Prince.
For the first time since beginning his conspiracy...
A flicker of genuine fear appeared in Vikrama Varma’s eyes.
The man he had hoped to keep away from the ritual...
Had arrived.
And with a single swing of his divine axe...
He had erased every obstacle standing between them.
The severed remains of Vikrama Varma’s command tent lay scattered across the battlefield.
The crimson ritual circle.
The blazing sacrificial fire.
The blood offerings.
The tribal shamans adorned in bones and ash.
Everything that had been concealed moments earlier now stood exposed beneath the night sky for the entire royal encampment to witness.
King Padmanabha Varma and the Crown Prince remained frozen for a brief moment, their eyes still lingering on the impossible feat Devaratha had just performed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
One swing.
That was all it had taken.
With a single stroke of his divine axe, he had cut through an entire defensive formation and torn away the roof of the Mahamantri’s command tent as though it were nothing more than paper.
It took several heartbeats before the King finally regained his senses.
His attention immediately shifted from Devaratha to the scene before him.
The ritual.
The tribal shamans.
The dark flames.
And... His younger brother.
Vikrama Varma.
Every remaining trace of hope vanished from his heart.
There was no misunderstanding.
No false accusation.
The truth stood before him with merciless clarity.
The King slowly stepped forward, his sword trembling in his grasp.
Not from fear. From heartbreak.
His voice echoed across the silent battlefield.
"...Vikrama."
The Mahamantri slowly turned to face him.
For a long moment, neither brother spoke.
They simply stared at one another.
One looked upon the brother he had trusted with his kingdom.
The other looked upon the brother he had spent years resenting.
Finally...
King Padmanabha Varma broke the silence.
"Why...?"
His voice was heavy with pain.
"How could you do this?"
"How could you betray your own family?"
"You are my brother."
"My own flesh and blood."
"You watched Indhumati grow from the day she was born."
"You carried her in your arms."
"And yet..."
The King’s voice cracked.
"...you tried to kill her."
The Crown Prince could no longer restrain himself.
"You called yourself my uncle!"
His eyes burned with fury.
"I respected you."
"I learned statecraft from you."
"I trusted every word you spoke."
"And all this time... you were plotting against our family!"
"You even turned the King’s own soldiers into traitors!"
His sword pointed directly at Vikrama Varma.
"Were we nothing more than obstacles to you?"
For several seconds...
Vikrama Varma remained silent.
"...."
Then...
A low chuckle escaped his lips.
-Chuckle
"Heh..."
The chuckle gradually grew louder.
Before long, it had become full-fledged laughter.
"Hahaha..."
He looked directly at his elder brother.
His eyes held neither guilt nor remorse.
Only years of bitterness.
"You ask me... how?"
His laughter faded into a cold smile.
"I should be asking you the same question, dear brother."
"How did it feel... when Father handed you everything that should have been mine?"
King Padmanabha Varma’s expression hardened.
"...."
Vikrama Varma took another step forward.
"I was always the one who studied governance."
"I understood diplomacy."
"I negotiated with nobles."
"I solved disputes before they became wars."
"Every minister acknowledged my political wisdom."
His smile disappeared.
"And you..."
He pointed directly at the King.
"You were nothing more than a warrior."
"A man who believed every problem could be solved with a sword."
"A meathead who stumbled from one battlefield to the next."
His voice became increasingly venomous.
"Yet when the time came to choose the next king..."
"...Father placed the crown upon your head."
The King’s grip tightened around his sword.
"I questioned his decision."
"I demanded an explanation."
"And what did I receive?"
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"-HAHAHAHA!!!"
"A duel. A duel!"
His eyes flashed with fury.
"They knew perfectly well where my strengths lay."
"They knew politics was my battlefield."
"They knew the fighting was yours."
"And yet they forced me to prove my worth through combat."
He spread his arms mockingly.
"What justice was there in that?"
"What fairness?"
"They called it tradition."
"I called it a sentence."
His gaze locked onto Padmanabha Varma.
"You defeated me. You claimed the throne."
"And everyone celebrated the ’worthy heir.’"
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"But tell me honestly, brother... Did you truly deserve it?"
"Or were you simply fortunate that our father’s definition of a king began and ended with the strength of a sword?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Vikrama Varma slowly turned toward the blazing ritual fire.
"The throne should have been mine. It always should have been. I spent years watching you sit upon it."
"Watching you receive the respect... the authority... the glory..."
"...that rightfully belonged to me."
His face twisted into one of naked obsession.
"But not anymore."
He raised both arms toward the blood-red flames.
"Once Pushpasura grants me his blessing... You will die."
"Your bloodline will end."
"And I... will finally reclaim the throne that was stolen from me."
His eyes blazed with madness as he looked back at his elder brother.
"This kingdom... was always destined to belong to Vikrama Varma."
While Vikrama Varma poured out the resentment he had buried for years, his eyes never left his elder brother.
Every word was laced with decades of jealousy.
Every accusation carried the weight of a grievance he had rehearsed countless times in his own mind.
He had dreamed of this moment.
Not merely to seize the throne...
But to force Padmanabha Varma to listen.
To make him understand the hatred that had festered within his younger brother all these years.
His laughter echoed across the battlefield as he continued speaking, completely absorbed in venting the bitterness that had consumed him for so long.
No one noticed.
No one...
Except Devaratha.
Unlike everyone else, he had never taken his eyes off the ritual.
His emerald gaze swept across the blood-red formation drawn upon the earth.
The tribal shamans had not stopped.
Even while Vikrama Varma distracted the King and the Crown Prince, the worshippers of Pushpasura continued carrying out the final step of the sacrifice.
One elderly tribesman slowly stepped toward the blazing sacrificial fire.
Held carefully between his fingers...
Was a single crimson drop.
The blood of Princess Indhumati.
Only one final offering remained.
The instant that drop entered the sacred fire...
The ritual would be complete.
The old tribesman smiled fanatically.
"For Lord Pushpasura..."
He slowly lowered his hand toward the flames.
At that exact moment... Devaratha moved.
Without a word... Without even looking toward the tribesman...
He extended his hand.
Rudhirabhra answered.
The divine axe, which had remained embedded in the earth after its previous strike, suddenly trembled.
Then...
It launched itself forward.
It did not return to its master’s hand.
Instead...
It flew directly toward the tribesman like a bolt of golden judgment.
The old man’s eyes widened.
He never even had the chance to scream.
BOOM!
Rudhirabhra struck him squarely in the chest.
The tremendous force lifted his entire body off the ground.
Bones shattered.
The tribesman was hurled backwards, his body dragged across the ritual ground before plowing through the earth, carving a deep trench across the camp.
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(Author note:)
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