Chapter 234: Chapter 232: Ashwatthama Show... Kravyadanta Arrives Before...
(A/N):
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Ashwatthama’s chariot thundered over the uneven battlefield, leaving broken Rakshasa formations in its wake.
Then...
Something entered his vision.
It came spinning through the fog.
"...."
At first, it looked like another corpse thrown into the air by one of the countless clashes taking place across Malikavana.
But Ashwatthama’s eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t falling naturally.
It was flying...
Straight toward him.
Without hesitation, he swung his bow sideways.
Thud!
The object struck the reinforced limb of the bow before dropping onto the floor of the chariot.
The charioteer instinctively glanced downward.
His face turned pale.
It was the severed head of a solider.
Its face was twisted into an expression of absolute terror.
More disturbingly...
The head was covered in deep bite marks.
Chunks of flesh had been torn away as though some enormous beast had sunk its fangs into it before discarding the remains.
Blood continued dripping from the mangled neck.
For a brief moment...
Everything seemed strangely quiet.
Ashwatthama stared at the head.
His instincts...
The instincts honed through the training his father has put him through...
Suddenly screamed.
Danger.
Not from the front. Not from behind.
From the head itself.
He did not waste a single heartbeat trying to understand why.
"Jump!"
His voice exploded across the chariot.
The charioteer reacted instantly.
Years of serving under Ashwatthama had taught him one lesson above all others.
When the commander gave an order born from instinct...
You obeyed first.
Questions came later.
The man abandoned the reins and threw himself from the speeding chariot without hesitation.
Ashwatthama followed a fraction of a second behind him.
The instant his feet left the platform, he twisted his body in midair before crashing shoulder-first into the muddy earth.
He rolled across the battlefield several times, using the momentum to absorb the impact.
The charioteer landed nearby, equally battered but alive.
Behind them...
The abandoned chariot continued forward for barely another heartbeat.
Then...
The severed head burst apart.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!
The blood erupting from the head did not scatter naturally.
It ignited.
Every drop exploded with terrifying force, as though the blood itself had become a deadly explosive.
The blast consumed the entire chariot in an instant.
The horses vanished beneath the explosion.
The wooden frame shattered into countless fragments.
The massive wheels were hurled high into the air before splintering apart.
A crimson rain spread across the battlefield as burning droplets of blood fell from the sky, each one hissing violently where it struck the ground.
The explosion was so powerful that it carved a deep crater where the chariot had stood only moments before.
Ashwatthama finished his roll and immediately rose into a crouched stance, bow already in his hand.
His breathing remained perfectly steady.
"...."
His eyes swept across the fog.
Someone had planned that attack.
The severed head had not been thrown randomly.
It had been turned into a weapon.
A trap.
Designed to lure him into lowering his guard for the briefest moment before detonating.
Ashwatthama slowly looked toward the smoking crater that had once been his chariot.
Had he hesitated...
Had he spent even a single heartbeat wondering why the head had been thrown...
He would have remained standing there when the explosion occurred.
His gaze hardened.
An enemy possessed both patience... And intelligence.
Unlike the reckless Rakshasas he had been cutting down until now...
This opponent hunted with calculation.
And Ashwatthama knew instinctively.
The explosion had barely faded when the Rakshasas closest to the blast reacted.
Although Devaratha’s Mask Senses still blanketed the battlefield, stealing much of their vision and dulling their senses, the explosion itself had become a beacon.
They had seen Ashwatthama thrown from his chariot.
They had watched him disappear into the dust.
For the first time since the battle began, the son of Dronacharya was no longer perched upon his moving chariot, raining death upon them from a distance.
To the Rakshasas...
This was an opportunity that might never present itself again.
"He’s on the ground!"
"Kill the archer!"
"Don’t let him summon his bow again!"
Dozens of Rakshasas charged toward the smoking crater from every direction.
Their movements lacked coordination because of the fog, with many unable to even see one another, but they all shared the same objective.
Bring down the greatest archer on the human side before he could regain his rhythm.
Steel flashed from every direction.
Axes.
Curved swords.
Spears.
Hooks.
Heavy cleavers.
The air itself seemed filled with descending blades.
Ashwatthama remained perfectly calm.
"...."
His sharp eyes scanned the approaching enemies only once.
That single glance was enough.
He understood the battlefield.
He understood their positions.
He understood their timing.
Without the slightest hesitation, he dismissed his divine bow.
The sacred weapon dissolved into countless particles of light before disappearing completely.
Several Rakshasas laughed.
"The fool abandoned his bow!"
"Now he’s helpless!"
Before the final words had even left their mouths...
Golden light gathered within Ashwatthama’s hands.
A beautifully crafted sword materialized in his right hand, its polished blade reflecting the flames burning across the battlefield.
In his left appeared a broad shield decorated with ancient symbols taught to him by his father Dronacharya during years of relentless training.
Ashwatthama slowly rose to his full height.
His expression remained unreadable.
The first Rakshasa swung a massive axe directly toward his neck.
Ashwatthama shifted only half a step.
Clang!
The shield intercepted the blow effortlessly.
Before the Rakshasa could recover...
Ashwatthama’s sword flashed once.
A silver arc cut cleanly through the warrior’s chest.
The Rakshasa collapsed before realizing he had already been struck.
A spear immediately lunged toward Ashwatthama’s ribs.
He rotated the shield just enough to redirect its tip away from his body.
The spear slid harmlessly along its surface.
In the same fluid motion, Ashwatthama stepped inside the attacker’s reach.
His sword thrust forward.
The blade pierced straight through the Rakshasa’s throat.
He withdrew it in one smooth movement before the body had even begun to fall.
Three more attackers rushed him together.
One from the left.
One from the right.
One from directly ahead.
Rather than retreat...
Ashwatthama advanced.
His shield smashed into the first Rakshasa’s face with enough force to break bone.
Before the warrior hit the ground, Ashwatthama spun gracefully, his sword tracing a deadly circle through the air.
Two heads fell almost simultaneously.
The remaining Rakshasas froze for a heartbeat.
"...."
"...."
Their expressions shifted from excitement...
...to disbelief.
"This... he’s not just an archer."
Ashwatthama heard the whispered words.
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
"My father never taught me to rely upon a single weapon."
His voice was calm.
Almost conversational.
"Dronacharya taught every disciple one lesson before all others."
The next Rakshasa charged recklessly with twin blades.
Ashwatthama met him head-on.
Steel clashed against steel in a dazzling exchange.
The Rakshasa attacked again and again, hoping to overwhelm him through relentless aggression.
Each strike was met with flawless precision.
Every slash was parried.
Every thrust redirected.
Every opening instantly exploited.
Watching Ashwatthama fight with a sword was strangely similar to watching him wield a bow.
There was no wasted movement.
No unnecessary flourish.
Every action flowed naturally into the next, as though each technique had been practiced thousands upon thousands of times.
The Rakshasa attempted one desperate overhead strike.
Ashwatthama caught it upon his shield.
Before the attacker could pull his weapon free...
His sword swept upward in a clean diagonal line.
The Rakshasa’s weapon fell from nerveless fingers as he collapsed to the ground.
Ashwatthama stepped over the body without even looking back.
More Rakshasas continued pouring through the fog.
Instead of retreating...
He walked toward them.
His sword gleamed beneath the light of burning fires.
His shield bore the marks of countless impacts.
Yet his breathing remained steady.
His posture never faltered.
One by one...
The charging Rakshasas began to understand a terrifying truth.
Taking away Ashwatthama’s bow had not weakened him.
It had merely changed the manner in which he killed.
Whether a bow rested in his hands...
Or a sword...
Or a spear...
Or any weapon ever forged by man...
The son of Dronacharya remained equally lethal.
For he had not mastered a weapon.
He had mastered the art of war itself.
Ashwatthama had barely taken three steps from the circle of fallen Rakshasas when the ground beneath his feet began to tremble once again.
At first, he mistook it for another distant clash.
Then the vibrations grew stronger.
Faster.
Rhythmic.
His eyes narrowed.
Something heavy was charging straight toward him.
The warning came an instant before the attack itself.
A thunderous roar erupted from his right.
Without even turning to look, Ashwatthama’s battle instincts took over.
He pushed off the ground with explosive force, throwing himself sideways.
"...."
The next heartbeat...
A massive chariot tore through the very spot where he had been standing.
BOOOOOOM!
The earth exploded beneath its wheels.
Mud, broken weapons and shattered corpses were hurled into the air as the monstrous vehicle carved a deep path across the battlefield.
Had Ashwatthama delayed by even the blink of an eye, he would have been crushed beneath its immense weight.
Rolling across the ground, Ashwatthama landed lightly upon one knee before immediately rising back to his feet.
His sharp gaze followed the charging chariot.
It continued forward for several dozen meters, its massive wheels grinding through corpses and broken shields alike before finally slowing.
The strange beasts pulling it let out guttural growls as they dug their claws into the earth.
Only then did the vehicle come to a halt.
For a few moments...
Neither side moved.
Ashwatthama’s attention shifted from the chariot itself to the creatures dragging it.
Even after fighting countless beasts throughout his life...
He could not immediately identify them.
They looked like something born from a nightmare rather than nature.
Their bodies resembled enormous wolves, yet their skin appeared peeled away, exposing pulsating crimson muscles beneath.
Jagged bones protruded through their backs like rows of broken spears, while their elongated jaws split unnaturally wide, revealing several rows of uneven fangs stained with fresh blood.
Thick black saliva dripped continuously from their mouths,
Hissing wherever it touched the ground, and instead of ordinary eyes, each creature possessed four glowing crimson orbs that darted independently in every direction.
The beasts pawed impatiently at the earth.
They did not breathe.
They growled.
A sound so deep and unnatural that several nearby horses belonging to the allied army immediately panicked and fled.
Ashwatthama slowly tightened his grip around his sword.
"...."
His eyes then rose toward the figure standing upon the chariot.
The Rakshasa was colossal.
He stood nearly as tall as Vajrakeshin, though his build was leaner, giving him the appearance of a towering executioner rather than a warrior.
Dark, weathered armor covered his body, its surface scarred by countless battles, while necklaces fashioned from the teeth and claws of unknown creatures hung around his neck.
Resting casually upon one shoulder was an enormous cleaver.
Calling it a sword would have been an insult.
The blade was almost as tall as an ordinary man, broad enough to split an elephant in half with a single swing.
Its edge was chipped and uneven, not from neglect but from years of carving through armor, bone and flesh alike.
Dark stains had seeped so deeply into the metal that it no longer reflected light.
It resembled the blade of an executioner.
A weapon crafted solely to butcher.
The Rakshasa slowly lifted his head.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
Rows of jagged teeth became visible beneath cracked lips.
"So..."
His voice rumbled across the battlefield.
"You’re the archer who has been causing so much trouble."
Ashwatthama remained silent.
The Rakshasa chuckled.
"I expected someone larger."
With a heavy thud, he rested the gigantic cleaver against the floor of his chariot.
The impact alone caused the wooden platform to groan beneath its weight.
"I watched you cut down my soldiers."
"I watched you escape that delightful little trap."
His crimson eyes gleamed with savage amusement.
"Most impressive."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But now..."
"...your hunt ends."
The beasts pulling the chariot snarled as though responding to their master’s killing intent.
Ashwatthama calmly lowered his stance.
His breathing remained perfectly steady.
His eyes never left the towering Rakshasa.
He already knew.
This was no ordinary commander.
The oppressive aura radiating from the figure before him surpassed every Rakshasa he had encountered since the battle began.
Only one possibility remained.
One of Pushpasura’s Twelve Battle Generals.
The Rakshasa slowly lifted his colossal cleaver from his shoulder.
"I suppose..."
he said with a grin devoid of warmth,
"...it is only proper that I introduce myself before I carve you apart."
The giant executioner’s blade gleamed beneath the blood-red sky.
"I am Kravyadanta."
"The Flesh Devourer."
One of the Twelve Battle Generals of Lord Pushpasura."
His smile widened further.
"And today..."
"...your flesh belongs to me."
The battlefield around them seemed to fall silent.
Two seasoned warriors.
One, the greatest disciple of Dronacharya.
The other, Pushpasura’s infamous executioner.
Without another word, they fixed their eyes upon one another, each recognizing that the next exchange would decide how this confrontation began.
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(Author note:)
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