Chapter 110 : Battle Royale
That night, the grand tournament grounds lay silent, but whispers filled the air. Campfires glowed like fallen stars across the sprawling resting grounds where five hundred warriors of Bharatvarsh sat with their weapons, their pride, and their unease.
Rudra was not among them.
He sat in a secluded pavilion with a few revered sages—Parashurama, Vishwamitra, Narada, and even Bhishma seated as a respected elder. The fragrant smoke of sandalwood rose in the still air.
Parashurama broke the silence first.
"That boy, Ram… he is not ordinary, When he shattered the cocoon, I saw the arms of Sahasrabahu in him."
Vishwamitra nodded gravely.
"I too felt it, His persistence, his aura, his endurance—it is unnatural for this age, Rudra was that coincidence, or fate?"
Rudra, sitting cross-legged, eyes half closed, exhaled slowly before replying.
"No coincidence, Ram is indeed the reincarnation of my guru, the Thousand-Handed King Kartavirya Arjun. Today, the siddhi of Sahasrabahu recognized its true master once again."
Gasps filled the chamber. Even Narada's ever-smiling lips tightened.
"So the wheel of time has brought him back. If this is true, then greater storms will rise with him…"
Rudra lowered his gaze.
"Yes and storms demand trials. Tomorrow, we move to the next test. The first separated willpower from the crowd. The second must temper their choices."
---
The Next Morning
The next day dawned bright, yet the arena vibrated with anticipation. Warriors, royals, and sages filled the colossal seats. The five hundred chosen contestants stood together, their weapons shining, their hearts racing.
Whispers passed through the crowd.
"Yesterday's trial was already brutal—what can he possibly bring now?"
"I heard even Maharathis were unsettled by the cocoon game…"
Rudra stepped onto the grand stage. His black robes swayed in the breeze, his presence silenced the entire arena. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he surveyed both warriors and guests alike.
"I know you all are eager," Rudra began, his voice deep yet steady. "Yesterday tested persistence. Today… we will test choices. And blood."
The five hundred shifted uneasily.
"You see," Rudra continued, "among you are Atirathis, princes, Rakshasas, even hidden heirs of kingdoms. To choose the finest among you, I will not decide—it is you who must decide who deserves to move forward."
Confusion and shock erupted in murmurs. The Pandavas exchanged uneasy glances, while Duryodhan folded his arms, frowning.
Arjun muttered, "What does he mean by we must decide?"
Yudhishthir's brow furrowed. "Patience, Arjun. He never speaks without reason."
From within the crowd, two hooded figures whispered. One was massive, muscles straining beneath his cloak. The other, thin and sharp-eyed, sneered.
"Show-off," the thin one spat softly. "Let him play his games. We'll show him soon enough."
The bulky one chuckled darkly. "Hmph. He doesn't know what storm he's inviting."
They thought their voices hidden, but above on the dais, Rudra's eyes flickered their way. He had already marked them. Their identities, their intentions—all lay bare before him. But he said nothing, allowing the threads of fate to tighten around them.
---
Finally, Rudra raised his right hand. With a flick of his wrist, a large silver orb appeared, swirling with mist and light. His other hand revealed a scroll with red inscriptions.
"I will send all five hundred of you into a place I call… The City of Demons."
The crowd stiffened.
"This place was once a thriving city," Rudra explained, his tone grave. "But it has been cursed. Every inhabitant has turned into a demonic being. If they bite you, if they so much as scratch you—your body, your mind, your very essence will be corrupted. You will become one of them."
Gasps filled the arena. Even hardened Rakshasas shifted uncomfortably at the thought.
"You will be tasked with survival… and slaughter."
He let the words linger, then continued.
"For every demon you slay, you earn one point. For every warrior you slay, you earn ten points—plus their accumulated points."
The warriors collectively drew a sharp breath. A few immediately looked sideways at their peers, suspicion already blooming.
"The top one hundred in points will advance to the next trial," Rudra declared, his voice echoing like thunder. "The top ten will be rewarded directly. The rest… will remain only as spectators."
A silence heavier than stone fell upon the arena.
Subhadra's hand trembled slightly. Dushala bit her lip but steadied herself, gripping her twin swords. Anupriya's eyes narrowed with quiet determination. Yudhishthir clenched his spear tightly, while Duryodhan cracked his knuckles with a grin that was half excitement, half bloodlust.
And from the royal stand, kings and sages alike whispered uneasily.
"This test… will force warriors to betray one another."
"Is this Rudra's way of filtering ruthlessness from righteousness?"
Rudra raised his hand once more.
"This is not just a game of strength—it is a mirror to your heart. Will you fight only demons, or will you kill your kin for points? Will you cling to survival, or grasp for glory?"
His voice lowered, but it struck like lightning.
"In this trial, your every choice will define you."
And with a sharp motion, he slammed the scroll onto the orb. A wave of light burst outward, enveloping all five hundred warriors.
Gasps filled the arena as the warriors vanished from the stage, swallowed into the cursed realm Rudra had forged.
The Tournament of Power's second trial had begun.