Arya had already defeated the ten soldiers who accompanied Raktapasu. He stood amidst the fallen, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. His arms felt heavy, but his grip on the sword remained firm. He turned towards Raktapasu and Dhanudanda, who were engaged in a fiery duel. The clash of steel against steel echoed across the battlefield. Both men were weary, their movements slower, but their resolve unbroken.
As Arya took a step forward, a sudden attack came from the side. A soldier lunged at him, his spear thrusting toward Arya's ribs. Arya moved just in time, the spear grazing past his armor. With a quick riposte, he slashed downward, his sword slicing through the man's arm. The soldier screamed and fell, but another immediately took his place. Arya was being pushed further away from Dhanudanda and Raktapasu. He needed to get back to them, but the enemies kept coming.
Two more soldiers rushed him—one wielding a sword, the other a curved axe. Arya ducked under a wild swing, rolling on the ground and coming up behind them. He drove his blade into the back of the axeman before spinning to parry the sword strike. He countered swiftly, slashing through the soldier's leg, sending him collapsing to the ground. Blood sprayed onto the battlefield.
He fought with every ounce of strength left in him. A soldier with a long spear thrust forward. Arya sidestepped, grabbed the spear shaft, and yanked the soldier towards him. With a clean strike, he ended the fight. The body crumpled at his feet. Another enemy tried to capitalize on Arya's exhaustion, swinging a mace at his head. Arya ducked and countered with a brutal stab through the chest. The soldier gasped, blood foaming at his lips, before falling silent.
Bodies lay around him, unmoving. His muscles screamed, but he refused to fall. He turned towards Raktapasu and Dhanudanda once more. They were locked in combat, a deadly dance of strength and endurance.
Raktapasu swung his spiked mudgar with unrelenting ferocity. Dhanudanda barely managed to deflect each strike with his shield. His arm trembled under the sheer force of the blows. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal. Raktapasu's mudgar crashed down onto Dhanudanda's shield once again, sending the warlord stumbling back. His left shoulder bore the brunt of the impact, and pain shot through his body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to show weakness.
Dhanudanda countered, slamming his shield into Raktapasu's side, throwing him off balance. He swung his sword, but Raktapasu dodged, the blade missing by a hair's breadth. In response, Raktapasu spun and brought his weapon down hard. Dhanudanda barely managed to roll away, the mudgar smashing into the ground where he had stood moments ago.
The two warriors circled each other, their breaths labored. Raktapasu's eyes gleamed with savage delight. He feinted left, then struck from the right. Dhanudanda blocked, but the impact sent him skidding back. His arm felt numb. He had to change tactics. He adjusted his stance, preparing for the next onslaught.
Raktapasu rushed forward again, swinging his mudgar overhead. Dhanudanda sidestepped, slashing at Raktapasu's exposed flank. The blade connected, drawing blood. Raktapasu grunted but barely slowed. He retaliated with a vicious backhand swing. The spiked club connected with Dhanudanda's shoulder.
Pain exploded through Dhanudanda's body as he fell to one knee. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. Raktapasu grinned, sensing victory. He raised his mudgar for the final blow. As he leaped into the air, a deep sound cut through the chaos—the shankh was blown.
Everything froze.
Arya, still gripping his sword tightly, stood confused. He looked around, expecting another ambush. The battlefield, which moments ago had been filled with death cries and the clang of steel, suddenly became eerily silent. His own soldiers stepped back. The enemy soldiers, too, retreated step by step.
Dhanudanda, still clutching his wounded shoulder, backed away cautiously. Raktapasu lowered his mudgar, his face momentarily unreadable before breaking into a smirk. He pointed his weapon at Dhanudanda, silently saying, 'You were saved by the shankh.'
From another side of the battlefield, Eknandini and Kritipal took steps back as well. Parashar stood with his sword in hand, his chest rising and falling heavily. Rudra and Raghav were still in battle stances, their weapons ready. Rudra lunged at a nearby soldier, but Raghav grabbed his arm. "Look around," he muttered.
Parashar turned to the twins. "Fall back."
"But we can still—" Rudra protested.
"The war is over for the day," Parashar interrupted, his voice firm. "No attacks are allowed after the shankh is blown and the sun sets."
The realization sank in. Rudra frowned but complied. The armies on both sides continued to withdraw, leaving the battlefield littered with bodies.
The dust settled. Blood soaked into the earth. The moans of the wounded replaced the sounds of war. Men rushed to retrieve the fallen, to tend to the injured.
Arya sheathed his sword, exhaling deeply. There had been no clear victor today. Both sides had fought fiercely, but the war was far from over.
The first day had ended. The night would bring only a brief respite before the bloodshed resumed at dawn.