By January of 1563, the industrial complex of the Rudradev Khurda Company had expanded into a bustling, highly fortified industrial town. Prince Vikramaditya stood before a massive, newly constructed kiln built from advanced, thermally insulated firebricks. He was demonstrating a revolutionary structural material that would forever alter the mechanics of warfare and architecture: Portland cement.
Under his precise direction, workers mixed calculated ratios of crushed local limestone and specific river clays, heating the mixture to extreme temperatures inside the blast kiln until it fused into highly denseclinkers. These clinkers were then pulverized into a fine, gray powder and mixed with water, sand, and gravel. The resulting concrete was being poured into heavy wooden frames to construct massive, thick, blast-resistant defensive walls around the entire industrial city, replacing the vulnerable timber palisades.
As Vikramaditya watched the concrete settle, a breathless royal courier arrived and knelt. "Your Highness, King Mahendra Deva and Queen Meghashree Devi have arrived at the outer gates under heavy cavalry escort!"
Vikramaditya immediately walked to his newly constructed stone mansion located in the secure center of the complex. Entering the living room, a profound warmth filled his chest, momentarily washing away the cold, calculating mindset of the sovereign. Sitting upon a plush silk sofa was his mother, Queen Meghashree, and curled tightly in her lap was a beautiful, energetic three-year-old girl—his younger sister, Princess Shanti, whom he had not seen in a year.
The moment the Queen saw her son, a radiant, loving smile lit up her face. Vikramaditya stepped forward, kneeling to touch his parents' feet in the traditional sign of deep respect, before scooping his little sister into his arms. For a brief hour, inside that room, the geopolitical storm outside ceased to exist as the family enjoyed a warm, laughing lunch together.
Later that afternoon, the atmosphere turned strictly professional as Vikramaditya led his father on an extensive, private tour of the industrial complex. King Mahendra walked through the weapons foundry in absolute, stunned silence. He watched the highly disciplined soldiers performing complex, rapid volley fire drills with their multi-shot muskets, their movements perfectly synchronized to the sharp beat of military drums. He witnessed the devastating destructive potential of the Vajrastra and Varshastra artillery systems during a live-fire demonstration.
Returning to the privacy of the executive office, King Mahendra turned to his nine-year-old son, his expression a complex mix of profound awe and lingering skepticism. "Vikramaditya what you have constructed here in twelve months defies human belief. It is hard to accept that you are a child of my own blood.I formally accept your radical proposal: I shall quietly detach four thousand elite soldiers from the regular Royal Army and send them to this facility to be trained in your advanced tactics and weapons."
The king leaned forward, his face turning dead serious. "Though my older generals remain deeply skeptical of these new weapons, preferring our traditional mass levies and war elephants, I trust your vision. I will use your trained units as a secret strategic reserve when the time comes to strike down Choudhry and Durani. Go to Bhadrak, my son. Secure our northern gate."
The following morning, after bidding an affectionate farewell to his family, Vikramaditya locked himself in a final command briefing with Colonel Virendra, Bhimrao, and Mastersmith Hariharan. The army was fully packed, the industrial tools were secured in armored wagons, and the logistical lines were primed. The hour of testing had finally arrived.