Sharvas' Camp
"I was so close to killing that Dhanudanda! Tomorrow, if he comes in my way again, he will die for sure!" Raktapasu said excitedly, swinging his mudgar in the air as if reliving the battle. His voice was filled with uncontained energy.
"I was hoping to kill a Kaalrath myself. They move like shadows, but I'll find a way," he continued, his eyes burning with the thrill of war.
"Calm down, Raktapasu. We have fought enough for the day. We need to rest for tomorrow." Kritipal winced slightly as he glanced at the bruises on his hand, flexing his fingers to check for damage.
Eknandini, who had been sharpening her parshus, looked up. "They had Kaalraths on their side. Ten of them. And that is enough to lay down a thousand men. Do you know how to kill a Kaalrath, Raktapasu?"
"You cut their head off!" Raktapasu grinned, tightening his grip on his weapon.
Eknandini smirked. "No, you see, they are not like us. They have heightened senses, reflexes, speed. And to make things worse, they are covered in scaly skin. That black armor you see? That's not armor. It's their natural hide, hard as iron.
But they do have a weakness—under their arms, just below their shoulders, the skin is soft. That is where you should aim if you want to kill a Kaalrath."
Raktapasu raised an eyebrow. "I always thought they were wearing armor. I'll remember this tomorrow."
Sharvas, who had been listening from his chair, finally spoke. "All of you fought bravely today. But our enemy still stands. We must ensure they fall tomorrow. Until then, rest."
Parashar's Camp
The air inside Parashar's camp was different. Less excitement, more exhaustion.
Dhanudanda sat beside Arya, wincing as a healer examined his injured shoulder. "You fight with courage, Arya. You are brave. I didn't know you could take down so many of them."
Arya nodded, still feeling the ache in his muscles. The battle had tested him, but he had remained undefeated.
The twins, Rudra and Raghav, grinned at him. "Looks like our Arya is finally getting the recognition he deserves!" Rudra chuckled.
"We still don't know what Sharvas is planning," Parashar interjected, rubbing his temples. "Dhanudanda convinced a group of Kaalraths to fight for us, but that's all we have. Savignya's letters to her allies remain unanswered."
Savignya sighed. "We need to be extremely careful tomorrow. Sharvas will try to end it."
Arya, still processing the day's events, raised an eyebrow. "I have two important things to say and ask. One—if you are planning on having someone like Kaalraths fight for us, a heads-up would be great! I don't want to fall on the ground in shock while they massacre everything around me. And two—what are these rules? We start with a shankh, end with a shankh. What is all this?"
The warriors around him chuckled.
Parashar explained, "There are a few rules in war. The shankh is the most important. Once it is blown, no one can attack. It must be respected. These rules were set by Yamsabha long ago. We have followed them for generations, even when fighting among ourselves. But this war is different. I don't see Sharvas sticking to them. The rules were meant for outsiders. This is a war within."
A silence fell over the group. The weight of his words was clear. This war would not be like the ones before.
Dhanudanda stood up, rolling his injured shoulder. "I need someone to tend to my arm. If I see that Raktapasu tomorrow, his men will have to pick him up in a bucket."
The tension in the camp lifted slightly as laughter rippled through the group. The warriors dispersed, heading to their tents to rest.
Outside, the battlefield lay in eerie silence. Men carried the dead back for proper funerals, the flickering torches illuminating their grief-stricken faces. Some knelt beside fallen comrades, murmuring silent prayers. Others sat with blank expressions, their eyes hollow after a day of relentless bloodshed.
The night sky was beautiful, the moon shining brightly. But beneath its glow, the battlefield was soaked in blood. The cries of the wounded and the hushed voices of grieving soldiers painted a different reality—a reminder that the war was far from over.
Tomorrow, the bloodshed would begin again.